


Dangerous Dragons

by WordsmithMusings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Hermione Granger, Dragonologist Charlie Weasley, Dragonologist Draco Malfoy, Dragons, Durrell Family, Eventual Romance, F/M, HP Worldbuilding, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healer Hermione Granger, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Original Characters - Freeform, Post-Hogwarts, Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, Ron Weasley Bashing, Slow Build, Will add as new tags become necessary, Wordsmith Musings, dramione - Freeform, updated on Wednesdays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2020-04-07 18:57:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 62,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19091095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsmithMusings/pseuds/WordsmithMusings
Summary: The British Ministry of Magic classifies Dragons as XXXXX creatures. Whenever possible, Dragons are specifically sent to the heart of Romania, where the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary has been run for generations by the Formidable Durrell family.  The RDS is the foremost research center and reserve for dragons on Earth, and from the outside,  is merely a place to house various breeds of dragons. On the inside, it is a self-sufficient place where the rules of the outside world don't matter nearly as much as the sanctity and protection of the Dragons within. It is a place where Dragons are valued and respected, and an entire eco-system and society has been brought up within its walls to work across many different fields in the pursuit of knowledge and harmony for the good of both creatures and human.Of course, the RDS has one more purpose - to offer safety, protection and new beginnings to the downtrodden and brokenhearted. Hermione Granger is one of those people, and she happily accepts a position within the RDS when life in England becomes a bit too much. She soon discovers that she not the only one running from her past, but what happens when two pasts collide and new truths are uncovered?





	1. When in Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> _Welcome to my new multi-chapter fanfic! This will be an eventual #Dramione, and yes there will be Ron-bashing (sorry not sorry). As this story takes place at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary there will be lots of Charlie Weasley and **lots and lots** of OCs. We don't get much about the RDS in JKR's world so there's also lots of worldbuilding and new things to be discovered within the fic. I'll be posting a new fanfiction board on Pinterest (search user name WordsmithMusings) so you can see who I picture for what characters, and I'll work on posting my own sketches and drawings when possible. Also, as most of my works are, this story features a BLACK HERMIONE and a more diverse cast of characters when possible._
> 
> _I'll be dropping the first few chapters this week, and then posting every Wednesday after that._
> 
> _Obvs, I'm not JKR. I don't own HP or recognizable character names or creatures. I do own the plot, the additional world-building, OCs and of course, **ALL** the grammatical errors (eek!) _
> 
> _Beyond this place, there be dragons..._

###  **When in Doubt**

Hermione sat on the couch at the Burrow in between George and Charlie Weasley. It was her first-time attending Sunday dinner in the eight months since she and Ron’s volatile breakup. It had taken every form of bribery that the two redheads had been capable of, and a promise from every single member of the family that Ron would absolutely not be there after the deplorable way he had behaved. 

Apparently, though no one had given this memo to Ron, who had happened to return that day, after six months traipsing through Europe, with a woman, that he proclaimed to be the love of his life, on his arm. Only Mrs. Weasley’s manners and the fact that the girl spoke no English at all, prevented an all-out brawl from occurring. That and Harry had swiftly taken Ginny’s wand, and sent her outside to take her frustrations out on the Garden Gnomes in the yard. Bill and Fleur had managed to run interference on Ron, and his date, Gita, and Mr. Weasley had disappeared into the kitchen to “help his wife with dinner” which everyone knew was code for keeping the Matriarch’s temper in check.

George and Charlie, each held one of Hermione’s hands and were alternating between making deplorable comments about their brother, King of the Gits, and reminding her how amazing she was without him. It was enough to keep Hermione firmly planted between them, her eyes only occasionally drifting to her ex-between sighs and giggles. She knew they were right, of course, and she was so thankful for the many years of friendship they had offered her. Their combined ability to take care of each other and make each other laugh had been the basis of the deep bond the three had formed over the past few years since the war.

None of them had meant for it to happen really. After the war, Harry had been caught up with the trials and trying to reassure the public that the worst was indeed over. Ron had poured his way to the bottom of a bottle as he grieved for Fred and cried over the injustice of Slytherin scum escaping Azkaban. Hermione had felt caught somewhere between the two but somehow had found herself mostly at George’s side. The weight and loss of his other half threatening to destroy him, along with the rest of the Weasleys, was something Hermione simply couldn’t ignore. They were her other family after all, and her own family was still in Australia, none the wiser to her existence. 

When the first September after the war had rolled around, Ron and Harry had gone into Auror training, and Charlie had finally returned to Romania. Hermione had petitioned Headmistress McGonagall to allow her to study from home for her NEWTs, so she could continue to be with George, afraid that if she too left it would be too much for the lone twin to bear. McGonagall had begrudgingly agreed, stipulating that Hermione must come to Hogwarts at least twice a week for practical application. The truth was, Hermione had already spoken to Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, about using her time with George to rebuild WWW and Diagon Alley, and he had agreed - meaning she couldn't attend school in Scotland _and_ be in Diagon Alley rebuilding it. Everyone knew that Hermione would get her NEWTS one way or the other, and this compromise had allowed everyone to get what they want. Kingsley, for his part, had seen the need for the return of normalcy to the much-destroyed shopping central and knew that the public would be clamoring for the chance to see and work besides the beloved Gryffindor Princess and Brains of the Golden Trio. The attention was the exact opposite of what Hermione wanted, but she had been confident that it would help George and so many others.

And of course, she had been right.

By the first anniversary of the Second Wizarding War, Diagon Alley was rebuilt entirely. Soon after, Hermione had passed her NEWTs with the most Outstandings ever recorded. Harry had passed his Auror Training early, and with flying colors, and had one of the highest closure rates of anyone in the department. George continued to struggle, but had reopened WWW with great success, and had been the driving force behind a new memorial garden in the center of Diagon Alley, commemorating all the lives that were lost that fateful day. Ron had not done as well at Auror Training as he had hoped and had removed himself from the training halfway thru before fully flunking out.

The next few years had found a similar pattern for Ron. For a couple of years, he happily played Keeper for his beloved Chudley Cannons, his fame giving the team record number attendance at home games. Still, when the notoriety died down, and his talent was shown not to be as high as they had once thought, Ron had retired from Quidditch. He had thought to coach for a while but was discouraged when each team he applied to insisted that he start at the bottom and work his way up. Eventually, he began, working in his brother’s new store at Hogsmeade, overseeing the stock room and inventory, and happily sharing pints and stories of the Glory Days of the War at the Three Broomsticks with whoever would listen.

In the meantime, Harry and Ginny had become exclusive and eventually married and settled in Grimmauld Place. Harry continued to work his way up the ranks of the Auror Department and was named the youngest Head Auror in Ministry history after less than five years of working in the department. Ginny had chased her dream of being a professional Quidditch player after finishing her final year at Hogwarts, finally landing a Chaser position with the Holyhead Harpies. Her fame quickly propelled after her first win came against her brother, scoring the goal that would tip the scales in the Harpies favor even after the Cannons caught the Snitch a few minutes later. Her star further rose when she was asked to play in the World Cup representing England the following year. Hermione, for her part, had moved in with George into the flat above WWW, so she could keep a better eye on him, while she pursued her Healing Training at St. Mungo’s. Charlie had been promoted to lead Dragon Keeper of his beloved Chinese fireballs within the reserve and had fought hard to be able to return to England once a month to spend time with George and Hermione.

It had taken more than a year after she graduates for she and Ron to become a couple officially; he had fussed about her decision to continue to live with his brother, but she reminded him that his demanding Quidditch schedule meant that he wouldn’t be home if they shared an apartment. He had agreed, as it meant that he didn’t have to pay rent, but the growing friendship between her and his brothers had been the source of many fights between Ron and Hermione. His jealousy and temper had resulted in at least one explosive fight a month, and his brothers were routinely cursing him and his foolishness. Hermione had felt a deep sense of confusion at his words and actions and had fought to prove her loyalty to him repeatedly. When the rumors had started about Ron’s interactions while traveling with the Cannons, they had been easily dismissed as Groupies. However, the rumors had only grown when he moved to Hogsmeade and began spinning his tales at the Three Broomsticks; while he explained away every incident, Hermione had begun to wonder if she was being played for a fool.

Unfortunately, she had been right to worry, as one day she had gone to visit Ron at work only to find the shop closed. She had thought it was strange but presumed that maybe Ron was on lunch, and had made her way up to the flat above the shop. As the layout was exactly like her apartment in Diagon Alley, she had known exactly where to apparate to inside, but instead of being met by Ron having lunch upstairs, she had found him enjoying something – or rather someone – on the table instead. Hermione had stood there for several moments, torn between anger and disgust, before promptly hexing her boyfriend in the arse, then hexing the girl who only moments before had been spread eagle on the table under him. Before Ron had had a moment to react or respond, Hermione had disapparated back to her apartment in Diagon Alley, surprising George as she promptly vomited all over the floor. A quick vanishing spell had the mess out of sight, but not before George was at her side asking her what was wrong. The tears that streamed out of her eyes had prevented her from being able to speak coherently, and when Ron had shown up a half hour later, his appearance completely disheveled, and his arse and other bits, still swollen and engorged, George had known exactly what had happened.

The fight that had ensued above the shop had made onlookers and passerby’s wonder if another war had broken out, and by the time Ron had fled the shop for the safety of the street, many reporters and journalists with photographers in tow had appeared there waiting to find the source of the ruckus. In the months that followed, more and more women came forward, as well as a few men, all eager to capitalize on the situation and make it known that they too had had a good time with Ronald Weasley. Hermione hadn’t been able to stand the looks of pity and the swirling news of her ex’s exploits and her blindness and had finally taken Charlie up on an offer to intern at the Dragon Reserves in Romania for a few months. She had only been back in England for about four months when they had finally convinced her to return to the Burrow for Sunday dinner.

Not that that had turned out as they had all planned.

Hermione felt a scowl settling on her face as she watched the young girl hanging all over Ron, giggling uncontrollably at Merlin only knows what. “Right,” she said, standing up suddenly, “I’m off then. Tell your Mum, thanks for the invite. I’ll try and pop back over later this week to see her again.”

Charlie looked over at his friend as his git of a brother continued to touch the woman in front of them in an entirely inappropriate manner. He felt his face mirroring the disgust he saw on his brother Bill’s face, though Bill was seemingly better at replacing it with feigned interest whenever Ron turned his attention back to him. “Yeah, love. We don’t blame you. I’ll come to say goodbye before I head back to Romania tonight, yay?”

“That would be wonderful Charlie,” she felt herself shoving down an eye roll as the giggling reached her ears again, “You know, if he’s planning on sticking around, I may find a new and sudden urge to return to Romania.”

Charlie stood up at her words and took the woman before him in. She had truly become like a sister to him, and he had thoroughly enjoyed having her at the Reserve as an intern. Many of the other trainers had expressed their disappointment when she had decided to return to England, glancing at George sitting behind her, he quickly agreed, “You know, love, there’s always a job waiting for you. Phoebe has expressed on more than one occasion that you were the best intern she’s ever had.”

“What about me then?” exclaimed George in an exaggerated whisper as he stood from the couch as well. “Just gonna run away again and leave me, like you did last time?”

“Well Georgie, you are long overdue for a vacation…” began Hermione.

“And you’ve always said you’d come and visit me and never have,” added Charlie.

George looked from one brother to the next to the next before his eyes returned to Hermione. She had been his saving grace the last few years, enduring every heartache and sleepless night without complaint. He had been livid at what his younger brother had done to her, and more than understanding when she had fled to Romania for a break from the endless reporters and newshounds. Seeing that git in their very own home parading this vapid excuse for a girl around was an insult to each and every one of them. “Yeah, mate. I reckon it’s time I take some time off. Then I can see what all the fuss is about over those Dragons you lot seem to love so much.”

“It’s settled then,” proclaimed Charlie, his hand clapping on his brother’s shoulder.

“Ugh, I’m off,” replied Hermione turning just as Ron gave the woman on his arm a kiss far too intimate to be done in his mother’s living room.

The two brothers near her sneered as they tried to hide their disgust, quickly hugging her goodbye, and promising to meet her back at the flat in a couple of hours. Hermione nodded, turning discreetly to wave to Bill, who gave her a faint nod and mouthed “Sorry” to her before she snuck out the door. She made her way to the front garden where she found Ginny hurling gnomes with all her might.

“I’m headed home, Gin.”

Ginny turned to face her best girlfriend. Her rage was subsiding slightly. “I absolutely hate him.”

Hermione smiled kindly at her friend, “I know honey, but he’s still your brother.”

“No, that moron is most certainly not my brother. No brother of mine would misbehave like that, and if Harry hadn’t taken my wand, he’d be spitting out slugs along with Bat-bogeys.” Hermione gave a loud laugh, knowing that Ginny’s Bat-bogey hex was one of the most impressive in the wizarding world.

“As nice as that would’ve been, it’s still Sunday dinner, and you can’t ruin it for your mum.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to stay without you do I?”

“That’s up to you. Your mum will be non-too happy, I’m sure.”

“No,” replied Ginny, looking back at the house, her eyes seemingly fixated on something in the Kitchen window. “But she would understand. Come on, then,” she said, taking Hermione’s hands, “Let’s get out of here.”

Hermione’s face broke into a broad smile, as she ran alongside her friend to the age of the wards around the burrow before she grabbed her hand to side-apparate them both to the flat above WWW. Their feet had only hit the ground for a moment before Hermione was grabbing her friend’s arms again, and spinning on the spot once again. They landed in a side alley, where Ginny stumbled, “A little warning next time Mione! For Godric’s sake!”

“Sorry Gin,” replied Hermione, her eyes gazing up and down the alley they were in, making sure no one had spotted them. “I just got there and realized it was the last place I wanted to be. Well, second to last place.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust at her friend, and the two girls laughed before making their way to the end of the alley and out to the left.

They walked a couple of blocks before Hermione ducked into one of her favorite restaurants. “Ohhhh!” exclaimed Ginny clapping her hands. “Yes! This is exactly what we needed!”

Hermione smiled widely at her friend as a waiter arrived to greet them and lead them over to a table nestled along a far wall of the restaurant. “When in doubt-“*

“Drink it out!”  
The two girls burst into laughter again before ordering a pitcher of margaritas and chips and salsa from the waiter.


	2. One Tequila. Two Tequila.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So margaritas-“ began Harry once again.  
> “And shots!” came an explosion of giggles on the floor next to him. “Harry have you ever had tequila? It’s the best!” Hermione stifled a giggle.  
> “Hermione, did you and Gin have the same amount?” asked Harry noting the differences between the two girls. Hermione gave a shy smile and nodded, as George glanced at Harry’s face with a smirk.  
> “Mate, have you never seen Hermione drink?” Harry shook his head no slowly. He’d never seen her have anything besides butterbeer, tea or juice while they were out and about. He didn’t even know she liked alcohol! “Oh mate you have no idea what you’re missing!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The result of "when in doubt, drink it out!" (Which may or may not have once been an actual catchphrase within my inner circle!)_
> 
> _Thanks for coming along with me on this new story! There's def going to be some fun mixed in with the angst and some relationship/friendship twists that hopefully you'll enjoy._
> 
> _Usual disclaimers: I'm not JKR. I don't own HP. I'm just responsible for the poor grammar, quippy dialogue and plot. (all of which I hope you like or at least don't mind too much!)_ xx The Wordsmith 

###  **One Tequila. Two Tequila.**

Several hours later, the two girls stumbled back into the flat above WWW, giggling as they tumbled into the door. George and Charlie merely shook their head as they heard the laughter echoing through the flat. Neither of them bothering to get up, returning their attention to the chess game, as Harry jumped up to meet them.

Harry, panicked at their disshevled appeareances: “Are you two, alright?”

Ginny, struggling to stand: “Shhhhhhhhhhh, Mione! Don’t wake up, Dad!”

Hermione tittering as she looked up at Harry, “I think it might be too late for that.”

Ginny looked up at her husband and burst into giggles again. “Oh, it’s you!” She tried to stand up on her own, and quickly fell back, breaking into another laughing fit.

“Sorry, Harry,” said Hermione, straightening herself, from the sniggering mess on the floor, “have you been waiting long?”

“How much have you had to drink?” he asked, looking from one to the other, before finally picking his wife up off the floor and carrying her to the living room. He sat her gently on the couch, and as she tried to sit up, she promptly fell off again. Setting both girls giggling once again.

“Only a couple of pitchers or so,” replied Hermione, throwing herself non-too gracefully on to a chair next to the couch.

“A couple of pitchers?” Harry asked, trying to lift his wife back on the couch, with a soft “come on, love.”

Hermione nodded before answering: “Margaritas.”

“You went to Bodega without me!” exclaimed George, his eyes finally leaving the chess board. Hermione nodded. “Evil witch.”

Hermione to George, incredulously: “So you don’t want dinner?”

George, mouth falling open: “Did you really?”

“In the bag,” she replied, pointing back towards the door. George quickly ran to the hall, grabbing Hermione’s bag and returning it to her. With a flick of her wrist, several small boxes and drinks popped into her hands. She tapped her wand on them, muttering _“Engorgio” _and the takeaway boxes returned to their standard size along with a cup holder with 4 cups filled to the top.__

__“You are the most wonderful Witch on the planet,” stated George matter of factly, kissing Hermione on the cheek as he took the take away from her hands._ _

__Hermione, smugly: “Your welcome, Georgie.”_ _

__George, settling on the floor with the boxes: “I only forgive you that cause you brought me margaritas-“_ _

__Hermione, twirling her wand in her fingers: “And crispy pork belly tacos.”_ _

__“I take it back you are a goddess!” he replied, setting everything on the coffee table before sinking to the floor next to her chair. She tousled his hair with her hands and giggled after he took a bite of his taco and moaned. “With a warming charm. You are too good to me, woman.” He took another bite and moaned again._ _

__“You better get some before he makes love to your tacos on the floor,” she replied with another snicker, as Harry and Charlie watched George warily._ _

__“It can’t be that good, mate,” replied Charlie sitting across from his brother. He reached across to take one of the tacos out of the container only to have his hand batted away by George._ _

__“Get your own,” George mumbled, his mouth full of food._ _

__“There are crispy chicken ones in that one Charlie,” Hermione indicated to one of the other boxes to the side. “Georgie pass me a margarita please.”_ _

__George handed her one of the cups and a straw. Hermione sighed contentedly, grateful as she always was to be a witch and be able to cast anti-spill and stay fresh charms so they could enjoy them at home._ _

__“You didn’t apparate home, did you?” asked Charlie before taking a bite of his taco and moaning as well._ _

__“See!” exclaimed George toasting his brother with his taco._ _

__“No, Charlie, we didn’t apparate home. I’m not stupid enough to do that and chance getting splinched. We took a cab to the Leaky.” Charlie nodded in approval, and George reminded him of her status as the brightest witch of their age._ _

__“So margaritas-“ began Harry once again._ _

__“And shots!” came an explosion of giggles on the floor next to him. “Harry, have you ever had tequila? It’s the best!” Hermione stifled a snicker._ _

__“Hermione, did you and Gin have the same amount?” asked Harry noting the differences between the two girls. Hermione gave a shy smile and nodded as George glanced at Harry’s face with a smirk._ _

__“Mate, have you never seen Hermione drink?” Harry shook his head no slowly. He’d never seen her have anything besides butterbeer, tea or juice while they were out and about. He didn’t even know she liked alcohol! “Oh mate you have no idea what you’re missing!”_ _

__“Apparently,” grumbled Harry, finally taking one of the takeaway boxes that Charlie offered him._ _

__“Listen, Harry, here’s what you need to know about Hermione and alcohol. She can kick back a pint like a bloke, and never wake up with a hangover after. Tequila is her favorite, and she can drink anyone under the table when it comes to it. Scotch makes her mean and feisty, and Firewhiskey makes her take her clothes off. OW!” he exclaimed as Hermione smacked him upside the head after his last remark.  
“What! It’s true!”_ _

__“Yeah, but Harry doesn’t need to know that part!” Across the table, Charlie stifled a laugh as his brother rubbed his head, muttering a sorry under his breath. “Harry, listen. Yes. I had the same amount as Ginny, but as George was so kind as to point out. I’m rather fond of tequila. I can drink quite a lot of it, and margaritas, as a result without as much effect as someone like Ginny, who’s only had it occasionally.”_ _

__“I just feel like I should know that about you,” he replied, his voice tinged with sadness, “I mean I know we’re not as close as we used to be, but-“_ _

__“Harry, it’s fine, really. I’m sure Ginny knows loads more about you in certain ways than I do. George and I got to spend a lot of time together after the war and living together as long as we have…” she shrugged, her voice dropping off, “Sometimes alcohol was the only way to turn everything else off, and it was safer to do it here together than go out and get ourselves into trouble.”_ _

__Harry nodded at this, then found himself being touched inappropriately by his wife. He casually tried to move her hand but was thwarted when her other hand replaced it. “Ginny!” he hissed._ _

__“Come on, then Mr. Potter let Little Potter out to play,” came his wife’s teasing reply. Hermione barely stifled a laugh as George and Charlie quickly covered their ears, shouting “lalalalallalalalalalaa.”_ _

__“I think maybe I should be getting her home,” Harry replied stiffly, his face as red as his wife’s hair._ _

__From George, stuffing his face with more tacos: “Please do, before she makes me throw up my dinner!”_ _

__From Charlie, trying not to look at his sister and her wondering hands: “That’s my sister mate!”_ _

__Hermione smiled at her hapless best friend as his brothers-in-law continued to razz and bombard him, while his wife continued to accost him. Tapping the drink in her hand with her wand, Hermione whispered _“Reducio”_ then tucked the cup in Harry’s pocket, “for later,” she mouthed as he met her eyes skeptically. He seemed confused at first but then nodded slowly in understanding._ _

__“Oh, and Harry,” she said, stepping back from the floo just as he grabbed the floo powder, “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Tequila makes Ginny horny.” She burst into a loud laugh as the green powder slipped through Harry’s fingers, his eyes growing wide at her final words._ _

__“I may never drink tequila again,” muttered George with a shudder as she sat back on the chair behind him._ _

__“Good,” she replied, leaning past him to grab another cup, “More for me!”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Poor Harry, am I right? He just doesn't know what he's in for! So inquiring minds want to know - do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage? I have been told that my frozen strawberry peach margaritas are the things of legend (My liver may *finally* have forgiven me for all those nights of Patron in my 20s... Maybe.) Also, anyone ever tried one of those firewhiskey recipes? The name brings up images of fireball + whiskey and my liver and stomach immediately protest this combination. *shudder_
> 
> _As always, thank you for reading! Your comments and kudos mean a lot!_
> 
> _xx The Wordsmith_


	3. Goodbye to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to wrap up loose ends and prepare for the next adventure, but first one last dinner at the Burrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hey lovelies! Just a short chapter today, I'm off scampering to finish up something to celebrate Draco's birthday (we're the same age!) - gotta see if I can get my mind in the zone enough to get it all out and edited and posted! We'll see! In the meantime, here's the last chapter in England - the next one will take us to ROMANIA! *DRAGONS DRAGONS DRAGONS_   
>  _Usual disclaimers apply. I'm not JKR. I don't own HP. Just the plot and the bad grammar are mines. (Mines? Really Grammarly?)_   
>  _xx The Wordsmith_

###  **Goodbye to You**

Two weeks later, Hermione found herself once again at the Burrow for Sunday dinner. This was to be the last Sunday dinner she would attend for the rest of the year, and the last George would attend for the next month or so. Molly fretted around the kitchen, tutting, and tsking about the loss of so many of her children at one time. George had tried to comfort her, but the only one that was good at calming her down when she was like this was her husband or Charlie – neither of who was present currently. Giving up, he had rejoined Hermione in the living room, promptly removing the book from her hands.

“Hey, I was reading that!” she exclaimed smacking his leg as she reached across him trying to grab her book.

“Was being the key word there darling girl,” he replied simply holding the book high above his head with one hand.

“Give it back, George!”

“No. I’m bored. Play a game with me, Hermione.”

“Oh ok, Ronald since you’re so bored.”

“Oi! Woman that was a low blow!” Hermione used his anger and feigned wounded pride to quickly grab her book back from him before shifting away from him on the couch.

“Well did you expect me to call you when you’re behaving just like him.”

“Oh so sorry ‘Mione.”

Her eyes narrowed in response to the nickname, and she hissed at George, “Now who’s throwing low blows, hmm?” George gave a small chuckle. It really had been a low blow on his part. He knew how much she hated that nickname; while she had been too kind to tell his brother the prat that to his face, she had let it slip during one of their drunken truth-telling sessions, and George had made it a mission to get everyone to stop calling her that. Now that he thought about it, the only one that still called her that was probably the Git.

He felt a small squeeze on his leg and glanced down to see Hermione’s hand resting just above his knee. His eyes turned to hers, and he noted the concern there. “You ok?” she asked softly. George felt a wide smile cross his face. Merlin did he ever adore her. She was the only one that had come to close to knowing him the way Fred had, and George still wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if it hadn’t been for her that first year. As her eyebrows raised in question, he realized he still hadn’t responded to her. “yes, yes, of course. Was thinking is all.”

She studied him carefully before nodding slowly. “I’m proud of you for doing this George. It’s going to be good for you – for us – you’ll see.”

George felt himself smile widely again. He knew that she was right. Merlin, the bloody woman, was ALWAYS right. He only found it mildly annoying now, much as Charlie did. They had both long admired her brains and her brilliance. It was one of the reasons they had always questioned why she dated Ron. He certainly wasn’t the brightest bulb in the Weasley shed. The fact that he had thrown her over so easily had proven that.

“George?”

“Hmmmmm”

“You’re doing it again.”

He gave a soft laugh, “Sorry love.”

“Are you worried about Angie?”

His eyes snapped to hers, an answer on his lips, but he paused for a moment as he thought about her question. He and Angelina Johnson has been reconnecting slowly over the last couple of years, and only in the previous year had begun actually to go out on dates. She was perhaps one of the few other people, outside of his family that had felt the loss of his twin as keenly as he had. When Hermione had noticed that she was coming round more and more and that she may be interested in him, he had laughed. Angie had been Fred’s girl. Not that they had been serious, but he wasn’t sure if it was right. It had taken several pitchers of margaritas for him to get up the nerve to ask Angie how she felt, and he had been surprised by her response. So, they had agreed to see each other more regularly and see where it was going. Still, they weren’t exclusive yet, something she made sure to point out to him before they left. Telling him she didn’t mind, but she also didn’t want to know. “What happens in Romania, stays in Romania,” she had told him with a deep kiss.

“If I’m honest,” he said, mulling his thoughts over as he spoke, “I’m not. Angie seemed really excited and supportive of the idea.”

“And you had a good date last night?”

At that, George’s face split into a massive grin as he wiggled his eyebrows, suggestively, “Excellent.”

“Ugh! Spare me the details,” replied Hermione smacking his leg playfully.

A few minutes later, Ginny came in to tell them that dinner was ready, and the meal passed peaceably – especially as Ronald had deigned not to grace them with his presence that night.

Hermione and George weren’t allowed to leave the table until they had had seconds of everything, and both had agreed to take a basket full of all of their favorite meals and desserts to Romania with them – along with an additional container for Charlie.

“It’s like she thinks we’re going to starve,” whispered Hermione to George, watching as he swapped the heavily laden basket to his other hand.

“Good thing you’re a witch,” he had replied just as secretly placing a further light charm on both of the baskets, much to Hermione’s delight.

“Merlin that’s better!” George had replied with a quick smirk and a knowing wink before being engulfed in his mother’s arms for the 4th time. Hermione had let out a loud laugh at his face as he told his mother he couldn’t breathe, and they had finally been able to slip from the burrow after another half dozen goodbyes.

Early the next morning, Hermione woke George up by banging a pot right next to his ear and grinned like a banshee as he threatened her life while she ran from the room. A few minutes later, a still sleepy George grabbed ahold of the green yo-yo that Hermione held out to him, and with a familiar pull to the navel, the two let the International Port-Key transport them to Romania and their next adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks so much for reading and for coming along this new adventure with me! It means so much!_


	4. RDS: a History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The history of the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary and how it came to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hey loves. Happy Friday. Quick apology for no chapter yesterday and for no HBD Draco story. (it's coming along but not enough to share so oh well lol) I'm currently on a train headed away for a girls weekend with some besties, but didn't want you to think I forgot you! This chapter is sadly on the shorter side and may need some tweaks once I can get back to my PC next week._
> 
> _I've done a lot of World building for this story and I'm really proud of it. I hope you enjoy the history I've made and the new OCs that you'll get to know as the story continues._
> 
> _I don't own HP. I'm not JKR. I didn't come up with the RDS but I fleshed it out, and I really hope I did it justice._
> 
> _xx The Wordsmith_

###  **RDS: a History**

In 1881, Oliver Hari Durrell, was born in a small town in India, where his father had been working for the British government as a researcher and his mother as a teacher. His parents were killed in a tragic accident before his 5th birthday, and his governess and her family secretly took him in, raising him as their own. His adoptive father worked and cared for magical creatures, traveling often to follow the creatures and track their migrative patterns, eating habits, etc. On Ollie’s 10th birthday, his father took him on an expedition, unknowingly stumbling upon a den of Dragons in Romania. Ollie quickly become fascinated with them and made it his life’s purpose to study and learn all he could about them. With support from his parents, Ollie set out to become a Dragonologist, and by his 21st birthday had traveled to all the known habits of Dragons around the globe, researching and studying these wonderous and elusive creatures.

On a trip to Europe to study Romanian Longhorns, Ollie fell in love with another creature, a local Romanian girl named Adelina Dragan. Their children would later recount how Ollie had taken her last name as a sign, joking that he often exclaimed “Who was I to ignore it!” Fortunately, it was love at first sight for the pair, and in 1905 the two were married. Adelina, who had been known not only as a renowned beauty, but a free spirit, was quite content to wander around the world chasing her husband and the dragons he loved. They had two children while traveling, Tara and Sebastian, and both children were raised studying Dragons and learning many skills and cultural customs and traditions from locals in every place they stayed.

When the Great War broke out, Ollie and Adelina, made it their purpose to protect and help Dragons used in the War effort, and continued to do so when the second war began. Their children had been attending University in England, and joined the war effort there. 

By that time, Tara was an expert Healer and potioneer, having been trained by Masters in India, South America and across the continent. Sebastian was an expert flier, as adept to riding a broom and guiding dragons as he was flying a muggle plane. While working at a hospital in France, Tara met a young woman named Titania, a widow who had lost the love of her life to the war at just 21 years of age. Titania was a masterful healer, with a unprecedented knowledge in Herbology and a Master Potioneer in her own right.

After the war, the Durrells asked their children to meet them at Adelina’s family home in Romania, the deep desire to pay homage to the land and the dragons that had brought them together all those years before weighing heavily on them after the war. Tara invited Titania to join them, having grown very fond of the young witch and knowing that her friend no longer has a family of her own to return to in France. 

It is in Romania, that Tatiana is introduced to the family’s shared passion and love of Dragons. She finds herself falling in love with the magical creatures, and wooed persistently by Sebastian, who she also falls deeply in love with. In 1946, the two are married, and they welcome their first child, Cressida in 1947.

As the years pass, Titania and Sebastian welcome a son, Oberion, and twin daughters, Phoebe and Portia. The expanded Durrell family begins to settle in the shadow of the Carpathian Mountains in Romania, near the very village that Ollie met Adelina all those years ago. During this time Adelina feels a strong pull to remain on the lands of her family, being the last of their line, and while clearing out her childhood home discovers several parchments detailing property that belongs to the family. 

The land is heavily warded, and it takes several years for the Durrells to make their way through all the wards and discover the length and breadth of the land that once belonged to Adelina’s family; at the very center of the land they discover a heavy warded door that is carved with a Dragon’s head. Above the door, is a simple phrase “Beyond this place there be Dragons.” Adelina places her hands on the door, covering the Dragon’s eyes, and whispers the phrase above the door in her native Romanian. 

At once, the door springs open and the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, or RDS, as it’s more commonly referred to is born.

In the decades since its inception, many breakthroughs are made, not just in the care and protection of Dragons from across the globe, but in Herbology, Potions, Healing, Engineering and international relations. By the time Charlie Weasley joins the staff at RDS, Titania and her daughters are the lone survivors of the Durrell family, but the 4 women are a force to be reckoned with; like the dragons they love, only a fool would doubt their powers and abilities, and many a fool, has met their end for their stupidity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks for reading! Your comments and kudos mean the world to me!_


	5. Welcome to Romania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and George finally arrive in Romania and are introduced to the Dragon Sanctuary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. So. That last chapter was way too short, so since I'm still on the train, here's a second (unedited) chapter for you!
> 
> Happy Friday!!

###  **Welcome to Romania**

The day Hermione and George arrive in Romania, the sky is a crystal blue, and there is a very light chill in the air. The late summer breeze brings with it whispers of change and the dew is just beginning to evaporate as the sun breaks through the sky. Charlie meets them at the edge of the wards of the property, holding on to both their hands as they walk through them. They chat easily on the one mile walk to the first gate, where a few fellow members of the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary staff meets the trio. They are waved through and welcomed heartily. Knowing Hemione’s distaste of flying, Charlie ops to continue walking towards the main gate. Hermione feels a thrill of anticipation run through her as they near the heavily carved wooden door signifying the entrance to the RDS.

From the outside, the large building seems like an observatory, complete with a clear glass dome. Yet the walls stand more than 3x the average man’s height; a dizzying 70 meters from the bottom of the dome to the top, but this is just the special clear glass dome that protects the inhabitants of the RDS from the dragons. 

Above them, barely visible except for a mild shimmering in the mid-morning sun, is a hint at the special wards that guard the property on all angles and up to a staggering 325 meters above the ground level. The Durrells had taken no chances when it came to the safety of the people or dragons inside or outside of the sanctuary, and the magic that protected the length and breadth of the preserve showed that. The outside of the dragon’s eye, as the dome building was called, was lined with enchanted walls depicting trees to match the current season, the effect of which gives the illusion of a round grove of trees heavily laden with flowers, fruits and nuts of all kinds. The effect is at once calming and awe inspiring.

Yet the most impressive part is the door. The same heavily carved door that Adelina Durrell had discovered decades before, with the exquisite carving of a dragon’s face peering out at you. It is surrounded by a blackened archway, with one dragon carved into each side, their tails curving out towards the trees and their heads pointing up to the top of the arch. As the trio pauses in front of the door, the dragons on the arch blow fire across the remaining arch over the door, transforming the words written there from the carvings of ancient runes, into the same saying that Adelina, and every traveler that has ever passed through has been greeted with, “Beyond this place there be Dragons.” Charlie informs them that the Runes change with the Dragon’s fire to translate the phrase into the native language of the guest. 

As it is George’s first time visiting, they agree that he should say the phrase, and Hermione can’t help but chuckle at the way he bounces off his feet – like a child preparing to see Santa Claus.

Finally, he utters those 6 little words and watches in amazement as the door comes to life. The dragon in the center peering at them attentively, blinking it’s eyes as it shifts from person to person. As if deeming them all worthy of entry the dragon closes his eyes and the door swings open, allowing the trio entrance to the Dragon’s eye, the very heart and soul of the RDS.   
Hermione and Charlie can barely contain their laughter as George bounds inside, his eyes darting to and from, seemingly taking in everything and nothing simultaneously.

“Now then, George old boy,” says Charlie rubbing his heads together gleefully as he finally captures his brother’s attention. “Every new member to the RDS family, must place a handprint on the wall, and meet Avia-“

“And after that?” George asked, cutting his brother off in his excitement.

“After that we’ll see about you getting you a lot a place to sleep-“

“And after that?”

“I have to go check in-“

“And after that??”

“Hermione needs to check in.”

“And after that?”

“For fuck’s sake Charlie, tell the man when we’re going to see the bloody dragons so he can stop asking you the same damn question a million times.”

Charlie gaped at her language while George leaned closer to her, his eyebrows waggling suggestively, “Oh Hermione I do love when you talk dirty to me.”

“Get off!” she replied with a laugh, shoving the simpering prat away from her. “I’m just tired of him torturing you because it means I have to suffer.”

“What’s a matter princess? Running low on patience?” asked Charlie

“Probably more like restraint from killing you,” she mumbled in reply.

“Not good at being restrained, are we?” the double meaning clear in his words

“Oh Charlie,” replied Hermione, her voice intentionally breathless, as she inched closer to him, “you have no idea how much restraint I have,” she slid one hand up his shirt to his shoulder, “or how patient I can be when the mood calls for it.” she added sliding her other hand up to tangle with the other one at the nape of his neck. Her body now pressed flush against his, she stood on her tiptoes, so she could whisper in his ear, her lips purposely grazing his ear as her final sentence slipped through in a low whisper “I’m very good at… control.” 

She met his wide eyes with a predatory smile as she disentangled her hands from his neck. Patting his cheek, she gave him a salacious wink and laughed as his face turned as brilliantly red as his hair.

“Come along George,” she added, barely glancing over at the man she was addressing as she made her way around a shell-shocked Charlie, “we haven’t got all day. Things to do; dragons to see. Chop. Chop.”

“Don’t worry mate. No one will judge if you wank to that later. Merlin knows I’ve done it enough living with that flirtatious minx for so long.” George gave his brother a pat on the shoulder in solidarity before following behind Hermione with a teasing “Coming, dear.”

Leaving Charlie gaping behind them, his eyes screwed tight, as he focused on naming every quidditch player on the 2000 World Cup team in an attempt to eliminate the bulge that had developed in his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eek. Hope you liked it! Are you guys ready to meet dragons? What's your favorite? As always thanks for reading.


	6. Second Chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Happy Wednesday lovelies!I'm going to be posting DD on Wednesdays (and maybe Sundays) from now on. My oldest is out of school as of tomorrow so I'll have my hands full with all three kiddos home for summer. I'm not sure what that will do to my ability to post and write regularly so for now, I'm going to try and stick to once a week for this story, and twice a week for L &Q. I have several smaller fics and a few other multi-chapter fics that I'm working on offline as well, and you may see a few that pop-up sporadically during the summer as a result - depending on how crazy things get and if it's something you guys are interested in. LOL_
> 
> _Ususal disclaimers apply, but really, if I owned HP or I was JKR than I wouldn't be here writing #Dramione fanfiction at my kitchen table would I?_

###  **Second Chances**

His eyes opened wide as he saw her. He wondered how long it had been. A few years at least. Probably not since that night after their NEWTs. He felt his lips twitch into an involuntary smile at the thought. He quickly schooled his features as his cousin eyed him suspiciously. Shaking his head no softly, he mouthed later at her. The way everyone talked to her, it was clear that she had been here before. Thinking back, he recalled that there had been a lot of talk about a brilliant young witch that had interned at the reserve several months ago, but what had they called her? It wasn’t Hermione. He audibly gasped as he remembered what they called her - Mi. His nickname for her. Beside him, his cousin had gone from subtly eyeing him to flat out staring.

“What?” he finally asked, turning to her.

“You’re acting strangely.”

“I’ve always been strange, Phee; you’ve just never gotten to see it before.”

Beside him, Ophelia Durrell snorted. While the two were second cousins on their grandmothers’ side, the two favored each other so highly that you would’ve been forgiven for considering them siblings. The way her own mother had taken him as a surrogate son really didn’t help matters. But there was something about Draco Malfoy that had brought out a fierce sense of family and loyalty in the Durrells, and anyone who had met the formidable Durrell women knew that was saying something. Family. It had been the last thing he had expected when he arrived in Romania, a piece of parchment with a job acceptance letter in his hand.

The year after the war had been one of the worst of his life and considering what he had lived through in that had been saying something. Still, at 18, he was alive and free, neither of which he would’ve thought possible only a year before; while he had more than enough money to ensure that he never had to work another day in his life, he had gone in search of a job – any job really. He had applied everywhere he could think of and gotten rejection letter after rejection letter in response. It was to be expected after all. He wasn’t just a Malfoy, but he was a branded Death Eater. His father had been the Dark Lord’s second-in-command for quite a bit, and his Aunt his ever-faithful mercenary. All the Outstandings in the world couldn’t make his family history and treachery go away; he had resigned himself to the bottom of the bottle and the fate that came with it when the letter had come.

In truth, he hadn’t remembered even applying to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. While he was named after Dragons and had been completely fascinated with them as a child, he and magical creatures had a sketchy history at best, and he was sure he’d be dragon fodder within a month. Even in his drunken stupor, he recognized the opportunity for what it was - the chance he had been hoping for and had hastily sent off a reply accepting the position. A day later, he received a list of things he would need and a time and date in which he could floo over from an authorized location. He had 72 hours to put his affairs in order. He had sent his house elf, Tilly, to gather all his supplies, while he made some of the best decisions of his life – including destroying the Manor and selling the land that had been in his family since William the Conqueror had given it to them upon their arrival in England. When the time came to floo to Romania, the only possessions he had left were in his vault, or on the pack on his back. In one hand was his job acceptance letter and in the other his broom. By his side were the two free house elves that had absolutely refused to leave him.

Walking out of the floo that day in July, just one month after his 19th birthday, he had been greeted by a woman that had so resembled his mother that he had nearly collapsed in tears at the sight of her. She had smiled kindly at him and moved him, and his house elves, to a couch in the parlor, and offered them tea. The house elf that had brought her tea tray, noticing their guests had asked if they would like to see the house elf facilities and their master’s new quarters. Draco, still struggling to compose himself, had nodded his consent to them both and gave them both a kind smile before they followed the other house elf from the room.

When they were alone again, and the tea was poured, the older woman slowly began to speak, her voice clear and bright, belying her advanced age. “I take it you are unaware of who I am, Mr. Malfoy, but perhaps you will allow an old woman an indulgence to tell you a bit of my story?” Seeing Draco nodded his head over his tea, she continued “My mother was named Julienne Dubois. She was a Veela, as you could probably guess by my coloring. She was from a small community just outside of Paris. Her parents adopted her after finding her abandoned on their farm. Her adoptive parents were purebloods and sent her to Beauxbutons for her education. She was an exceptional child, and you would never have known that she was a Veela and not the birth child of the Dubois’ own as she was appeared to be their birth child in every way. My father may be familiar to you. His name was Phineas Black.” Here she paused, allowing Draco to process her words before continuing.

“They met at Hogwarts, during the Triwizard Tournament. The Tournament used to be every 5 years back then. They met when they were both very young and stayed in contact through the years; trading letters several times a week. They reunited at the next Triwizard Tournament which was held at Beauxbutons that year. By that time, both of their feelings had moved well past friendship, and at the Yule Ball that year, he asked her parents for her hand in marriage. He was a wonderful young man, full of passion and intelligence. They were all too happy to say yes to him.” She paused again taking a sip of her own tea.

“Unfortunately, the Black family at the time had some very strong feelings about blood purity.” Draco snorted. “But Phineas did not share this sentimentality. Neither did the Dubois. They were heavy influences in the Wizarding community in France, which was far more open with the non-magical community. Living and working within and around their communities instead of keeping their lives completely separate. It was something that my father responded very positively to, and his family, as I’m sure you are aware, was not thrilled with this.”

“He was blasted off the family tapestry if I’m not mistaken,” added Draco.

“That he was,” she confirmed, nodding her head. “Being disinherited by his family made no difference to him. He was of age then and had already come into his own fortune. He had my mother and her family, and he was quite happy to settle in France with them. Within a few years, they had two sons, my brothers, and then me. We were very happy and content together. I tell you these things because I want you to know that while he was no longer a Black to them, he still carried the name of Black with pride and instilled plenty of his traditions into his three children.”

“You’re referring to the Black tradition of naming children after stars and constellations.”

“One of them, yes. My given name is Tatiana, as I’m sure you saw in your letter.”

“I did, but I thought of the Queen of the Fairies first.”

“As many others do.”

“Is it a tradition you carried on then?”

“I did. You will meet my three daughters during your time here. They each carry the tradition and a tradition of my own.”

“Their names?”

“Cressida, Phoebe, and Portia.”

He smiled knowingly, “Shakespeare.”

“As you thought, I was named for the Queen of the Fairies as well.”

“You were named well, I think. You certainly carry yourself as regally as a Queen.”

“You flatter me, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Please call me Draco.”

“And you must call me Avia. It is what most people at the preserve call me.”

“I thought it was a sanctuary?”

“It is formerly referred to as a sanctuary, but when we started it was nothing more than a preserved piece of land belonging to my family.”

“I see. So it is called both then.”

“Yes. You will cause no disrespect if you refer it one way or the other.” Draco nodded. “Now, as to your job here.”

“Yes, I didn’t see anything specific listed in my letter, but I am just happy for the opportunity you’ve offered me.”

“Well, I must confess Draco, I have offered you a position here for two reasons. The first is because whether you realized it or not, you are family. The last male heir to the Black line, if you will, and as someone who grew up as a Black, I know the pressure a name can bring. I’ve seen what prejudices of a family can do to someone; you are young and impressionable, and I’m sure struggling with who you are beside a name. Which brings me to my second reason.

“You are incredibly intelligent. You were second in your class every year, and had an impressive number of NEWTs, despite the difficulties over the last few years. This reserve is 100% self-sufficient, and within these walls are opportunities to become a Master in almost anything. I know all you need is a chance to prove that your name does not define you and create a new name for yourself. I am prepared to give you THAT chance - to choose a new path for yourself. If you stay here, it will be hard. You’ll be given no special treatment because you are family. You will face anger and discrimination as an outsider. You will face fury and fire. Your days will be long; the work demanding and dangerous. However, hard work is rewarded here, and you will have the opportunity to learn from the Masters. And at the end of the day, you will have a family here should you want us.”

For the second time, since meeting Tatiana Durrell, Draco felt overwhelmed by the urge to cry. The only time he had felt so stunned before this moment was when the Dark Lord had given him the task to kill Dumbledore. It was a task set to show his displeasure with the Malfoy family; punishing both father and son with an undertaking that the young man was certain to fail, the consequence of which, was death and the end of the Malfoy AND Black lines. Draco had nearly broken under the weight of the mission he was given. What chance did a 16-year-old boy have against a man his senior in every way possible? One that was quite arguably the most influential and best in Wizarding history? The image of his father on his knees before the Dark Lord, the sound of his mother crying quietly behind closed doors, haunted his dreams now as they did then; their battered and berated bodies reduced to shells as they became no more than indentured servants in their own home; all in subjugation to a mad man, who killed purebloods as easily as he killed muggle-borns, a man who sentenced their only son to death out of spite.

Now instead of sitting in front of a Dark Lord that promised him nothing but death and pain, he sat in front of a Queen of Light that offered him life and hope. The paradox of the situation hit him fully as he took in the warmth that radiated from her face, and the way she patiently waited for him to mull over her words. She was a virtual stranger, and yet she was offering him something he never dreamt possible, something no one at home would give him. This Queen was offering him a chance not just for redemption of both of his family names, but of the chance to become his own person. To not be controlled and punished for the sins of his predecessors, to start fresh in a way he never thought possible. Meeting her eyes, he saw for the second time in his life the man he could be. He knew nothing he could do would erase the words and actions of his youth, but perhaps he could discover a way to leave his own legacy as a man. One like his Great Grandfather Phineas, that defied the expectations of a family written off to darkness and evil.

Summoning all the strength he possessed he stood up and offered Tatiana his hand. “I accept.”

A wide smile spread across Tatiana’s face as she stood carefully to meet the broken young man in front of her. Accepting his hand, her words rung in his head “Welcome to the Family, Draco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you for reading! Your comments and kudos mean a lot to me! What Masteries do you think Draco will go for?_
> 
> _Until next time! xx The Wordsmith_


	7. Charlie's Favorite Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie takes Hermione and George to meet his favorite dragon in the Sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Happy Sunday lovelies! Thought I'd throw up a post as I wait for waffles to bake in the waffle maker (sitting here waiting every 3.5 minutes for them to cook gives me plenty of time to mess about as I decided to make a triple batch for my husband's Father's day breakfast - at least we'll have plenty of leftovers, right??)_
> 
> _**Fair warning, the story bounces around slightly here, but nothing is so out of order that it affects the plot.**_   
>  _Also in a bit of shameless self-promotion, I have a new Dramione one-shot called **In Your Eyes** posted, and I'd love if you checked it out. _
> 
> _As always HP isn't mine. It's JKR's universe, and I'm just playing in it. The worldbuilding, plot, and grammatical errors are mine. Enjoy!_

###  **Charlie's Favorite Dragon**

George meeting dragons was probably one of the top 10 memories Hermione would ever have of her favorite Weasley. That he was getting to experience it with the two people he was closest to was just a bonus to the entire situation. Rarely had she seen him so excited since his twin had died, and she made sure to focus entirely on the two Weasley men she was now walking with so she could share the memory with their mother later.

You’d have thought it was Christmas morning with how excited George had been in the hatchery and the nursery. That they had gotten to see a rare Peruvian Vipertooth had made it even more special to all of them. Hermione for her part had been enamored by two dragons in the nursery. The playful antics of the Hebridean Black and the Ukrainian Ironbelly leaving her in fits of laughter. One of the trainers on hand described them as a handful, but Hermione had dismissed them pointing to the two men she was currently with “Believe me I know what a handful is!” This had set many of the staff within the nursery into their own fit of laughter as Charlie huffed in indignation while George pouted.

It was after that that Charlie had led him to the habitat that he worked in. Explaining that the lead trainers had special perks for their jobs. "One of my favorites is getting to name dragons. We take turns," he added as he had led them out of the hatchery area. "I want you to meet my favorite."

Hermione and George followed Charlie up a steep staircase and on to an observation deck. Carefully Charlie sent out his Patronus and began to line up a few pieces of meat just outside the platform where they were waiting. "I wasn't here when this egg hatched, but they had sent an owl to me. I knew without a question what name I wanted and I replied and sent the owl back. It was a few months before I met him, but the moment I met him I knew I had named him correctly."

Hermione found her gaze following Charlie's out into the habitat and slowly saw a form separate from the sky. Its massive wings thrusting it effortlessly in their direction. The dazzling red and gold scales caught the shifting sun and sparkled across the sky as the dragon hesitantly approached.

"Do all dragons do that?" marveled George.

"Very few," Charlie confirmed. His hands and arms now covered in his special dragon hide gloves. Leaning forward he emitted a soft growl and huff. Nodding his head in a dramatic fashion and then holding his arms out as if to show the dragon he meant no harm. The dragon eyed Hermione and George carefully before gliding to the end of the observation deck.

"Great job, Ole boy. That was well done." encouraged Charlie. Talking to the dragon now like he might to a dog he was training. "Are you hungry? I've got some lamb here for you. Come on and have a bite. It's fresh."

The dragon sniffed at the meat where Charlie indicated. Seeming to test the air around it and tentatively licking it to see if there was anything hidden in the meat. Deciding Charlie hadn't lied to him, the dragon opened its mouth and blew a puff of smoke on one of the lambs.

"Oi. You being cheeky again? Nobody likes a fancy dragon. Just get on with it." The dragon snorted at Charlie before blowing smoke on the meat again. "Now you're just being a stubborn prat."

The dragon pulled his head back and blew smoke directly in Charlie's face. Covering it in the black smoke before tilting its head back and sending little rings into the sky.

"Is he laughing at you?" Hermione questioned. The dragon turned its attention to her. Sniffing deeply before nodding his head at her. Remembering what she had seen Charlie do moments before, Hermione returned the gesture before showing her hands too were empty and bowing her head.

"He likes you. " Charlie told her, watching the dragon observe her closely.

"I like you too," she told the dragon, "but I'm afraid I'm new here so I haven't got any meat for you" The dragon again seemed none too happy with this answer but stopped short as it was about to blow smoke at her. His eyes instead noticing George for the first time.

George hadn't felt as if he could breathe once the dragon had landed. He had known that the Chinese Fireball was his brother's favorite. He had one tattooed across his chest for Godric sake. But there was something about this particular dragon that George just couldn't put his hand to. Noticing finally that the dragon had been staring at him. George nodded and showed his hands exactly as the other two had done. Yet something felt incomplete.

"So, you like lamb, huh? Too good for pig like the rest of your breed?" the dragon blew a smoke ring into the sky and George continued. "Lamb is my favorite too. I haven't had it in a while, but I like it smoked too. With mushy peas and mint. Granger here made it for my birthday once and it was better than me mum's - just don't ever tell her I told you that."

The dragon eyed him again before blowing several more smoke rings to the sky.

Turning his head, the dragon blew smoke on the other piece of lamb on the ledge. Alternating puffs of smoke with hot breath. After several moments he blew a puff at Charlie again and then blew at the lamb he had just been 'cooking'.

"George, I think he wants you to take a bite of that lamb." The words confused George, especially as Hermione had said it, but one look at his brother and he knew she was correct. Walking forward, with his hands visible he looked at where the meat was hanging from the ledge.

"I don't suppose you have a knife?" he jokingly asked the dragon. A moment later he heard a slicing sound and swallowed hard as he saw a piece of meat hanging from a razor-sharp talon. "Well aren't you dead useful. Like a Swiss army knife. Don't suppose I can shrink you down to my pocket?"

The puff of smoke in his face seemed to be his only response from the dragon in front of him. It took a bit of force to get the meat off the curved talon, but George did so. Eyeing the long flank of meat now in his hands.

"You've done a nice job. Good smoke ring," he praised, trying to delay the inevitable. The dragon snorted and Hermione bit back a laugh. Summoning all his Gryffindor courage George took a large bite of the meat. Chewing thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing. "It's not bad. Could do with a bit more seasoning but it's right there with me mum's."

The dragon seemed to accept this answer and blew smoke up to the sky again. A loud roar in the distance caught all their attention and the dragon glanced at all three of the humans in front of him before bowing low. That the other two knew to bow back to him didn't surprise Charlie, but George telling the dragon to not forget the rest of his meal certainly did. Ripping the meat off in one go the dragon bowed again before curving his body in an odd wave and prepared to launch himself into the air.

"Wait! Charlie. You never introduced us!" exclaimed Hermione

"Oh!” He stepped forward to the dragon stalling his departure for a moment; he pointed to George and Hermione. “This is my favorite brother the one I tell you about and this is our best friend Hermione. George. Hermione. This is Fred."

Fred blew smoke at Charlie once again obviously displeased for not saying something sooner before spreading his wings and launching himself into the sky.

“Sorry, Hermione I was caught off guard by that.”

“Fred. You named him Fred?” George asked his brother a combination of disbelief and uncertainty in his voice.

Charlie nodded at his brother. His voice gentle and reassuring, “He was born on May 2nd. He was the only dragon hatched that day that made it thru the night.”

“A Chinese fireball.” mused George, awe evident in his voice as he gazed at the sky.

“He's Red and Gold,” whispered Hermione.

"Gryffindor colors," confirmed George.

“He fought bravely to make it that night, and never fails to bring a smile anytime I see him,” added Charlie thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving his brother’s.

Hermione felt the sobs in her chest long before she realized that she wasn't the one crying. That George was once again in her arms crying for his other twin wasn't a surprise but that his tears were ones of joy certainly were.

Hermione couldn't think of a better way to end their first day at the Sanctuary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you for reading. Your comment and kudos mean the world to me._   
>  _xx The Wordsmith_


	8. Old Routines and New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and George slip into an old routine of comfort after meeting Fred the Dragon before Hermione prepares for her first day as a Healer at RDS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hello Lovelies! Sorry for being a day late, we were having interent issues that prevented me from posting anything yesterday. It did give me time to tweak this chaptr and add a bit more to it. Of course, my usual disclaimer of not being JKR or owning HP apply. The plot and grammatical errors are mine all mine though._
> 
> _xx The Wordsmith_

###  **Old Routines and New Beginnings**

Dinner was a shared event in Hermione’s new cabin that night. The boys had thought eating and then taking their leave would be a fitting housewarming present for her since she had been living with one, or both of them, for so long. It probably would’ve been a great gift to her if it had come to pass, but the tears over meeting Fred had been difficult for George to reign in. It had been like someone breaking open the dam, and letting the river behind it rush out to flood the reservoir it fed into gently during the rainy season. It wasn’t a bad thing by any means, but like the dam, would need to be closed before the damage could be assessed. And Hermione was the only one who could do that now.

“What will I do without you there?” he doggedly asked as they had slowly made their way from the observation deck and back to her cabin.

“You’ll do all the things you’ve been doing for months without me,” she had reassured gently. “This was just a one-off. You can come back from this.” He had nodded duly, knowing she was right, even if he didn’t entirely trust it at the moment.

They followed their regular evening routine when George had a bad day. They had breakfast for dinner, composed out of pancakes with fried eggs for eyes and smiles made of bacon or sausage. The pancake faces never failed to make Geroge chuckle at muggle ingenuity, though Hermione was quick to point out, as she always did, that it was Americans she had learned that trick from, George paid her no mind. Hermione expertly mixed some "very special" (and highly alcoholic) chocolate milk, and though, Charlie was never a fan of breakfast dinner, he ate it without complaint for his brother.

George reassured his brother that it wasn’t his fault and that it was, in fact, the most fantastic thing he could ever have experienced. “It just caught me off-guard,” he admittedly shyly, stabbing a yolk with his fork. Charlie had returned his weak smile, and Hermione had successfully reached under the table to squeeze both boys’ hands in comfort.

With Charlie gone, Hermione had sent George off for a shower, while she organized their drinks and snacks. Hermione laid out George’s favorite pj’s and slipped into the shower when he came out, telling him sternly to get dressed and pick out a book. The smile he gave her didn’t reach his eyes, and they both know he would pick the same book he always did. Nonetheless, Hermione showered, changed into her special pj’s which consisted of an old quidditch shirt of Fred’s that she had nicked one Christmas, foolishly thinking it was Ron’s, and a pair of George’s boxers.

George sat on her bed, his back against the headboard, dressed in his brother’s letter F shirt, one that they had used countless times in the past to trick their mother with, and an old pair of Gryffindor bottoms. Hermione slid into bed next to him, and handed him a tin, before filling the empty glasses on her nightstand with water from her wand. She set her wand down next to the little tray with her "strange muggle medicine" that she always took before bed.

Popping the lid off the tin, George gasped. “But these are your favorites!”

“They are,” she replied calmly helping herself to one of the nougat chunks in the tin.

“Dank ewe,” he mumbled, his mouth full. Hermione chuckled at him before admonishing him not to eat them all. “Best pass the cauldrons then,” he stated matter of factly, picking a few more pieces out before closing the lid back on the tin. She accepted the tin again thankfully, before passing him a box of chocolate cauldrons.

“Ready?” she asked, holding her hand out for the book. Nodding, he placed the original sacred copy of Mary Poppins into her palm. Snuggling into his side, Hermione began to read, as he chimed in with his narration and thoughts, while occasionally sharing a cauldron with her; long before Mary Poppins opened her umbrella to return to whence she came upon the west wind, they had polished off 5 boxes of cauldron cakes and fallen asleep, naked, in each other’s arms.

As was always the case after one of George’s bad days, Hermione awoke to an empty bed and a large cup of perfectly made coffee on her nightstand. They never discussed what happened. They never felt the need to. George’s lousy day would stay in the past, and they would approach the day anew. Hermione sat for a moment, enjoying her cup of coffee, before running through her to do list in her head. Today was her first official day as a resident healer at the RDS, and she was both excited and scared.

Her training as a Healer at St. Mungo’s had made her work as an Intern second nature, but as a resident, she had the opportunity to specialize her training and be included in research – either of her desire or an on-going nature. There had been so many options at RDS that Hermione had spent her internship, working almost sun up to sun down in the medical bays or adjacent labs. That Phoebe Popescu Durrell (one of Tatiana’s twin daughters) was in charge of both the medical clinic and potions labs including the Research and Development labs, opened many additional opportunities that Hermione had been powerless to ignore. For someone that craved knowledge and had spent her entire life in a library doing research or revision of one kind or another, this was more than a dream come true. 

Due to her record number of NEWTs, war experience, love of magical creatures, and intense and vast medical training, Hermione had her choice of projects. The prospect was at once reassuring and overwhelming for the healer. She had spoken to Drs. Simmons and Fitz of the medical bay and potions labs respectively and they had agreed that for the first 90 days she would alternate her weeks between one area and the other. She would, of course, be on hand in the medical bay in case of any emergencies (which in a Dragon Sanctuary was always an immediate concern) but would otherwise take her time to make a decision. 

The emphasis on following your passion and creating a life you loved was a foreign concept to Hermione. That she was encouraged to keep her options open and continue to learn and seek knowledge within the other areas of the Reserve never ceased to amaze her. She had learned it was not uncommon for many people within the RDS to carry multiple titles or for departments to work together. If you were interested in Herbology and the role it played in Potions you could examine both subjects and how they complimented and impacted the other. If you were involved in Herbology and Dragons and how a habitat could be changed or adapted to support a Dragon or vice versa, you were encouraged to peruse knowledge in both areas. It was an approach that suited Hermione and her ever-growing desire to understand the cause and effect and the world around her. 

Arriving for her first day, dressed in her new uniform of dark muggle jeans, crisp black polo shirt, and short green healer robes, Hermione felt ready to take on anything. She was once again introduced to the team and staff of the Medical Bay by Dr. Simmons and instructed to shadow one of the Healers for the week before she would switch to the Potions side for a week of training before she was let loose. Hermione felt slightly overwhelmed but was also filled with the nervous energy a new school year would have once brought her. Her wide smile was giving away that she was confident and ready to start this next chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _As always thanks for reading, your comments, and kudos mean so much to me!_


	9. Awkward Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ophelia has the chance to help her cousin and meets the mystery woman that seems to have sparked his interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Happy Wednesday lovelies! I'm under the weather so nothing cute or witty to say, other than hope you're having a wonderful week and to remind you all that I'm not JKR. I don't own HP. I write for fun and my own enjoyment. The plot and grammar errors are mine and my bank account continues to show that I make no money for my effort_
> 
>  
> 
> _xx The Wordsmith_

###  **Awkward Moments**

Ophelia Durrell continued to watch her cousin. Something about the way he was staring at the woman that had entered the Sanctuary a couple of weeks ago wasn’t sitting right with her. Still, she hadn’t pressed at him directly. The Durrells were a secretive lot when they needed to be, and it was a trait that they shared with their Black cousins. But Draco wasn’t just her cousin, in the few years since he had arrived at the RDS he had become a best friend and brother to her. They looked out for each other in a way that few understood, and they both knew each other’s mannerisms and movements better than anyone. Not at any point during the time that they had known each other had she seen any woman captivate him, and not for lack of trying.

When Draco had arrived that summer, it was like the entire female population had lost their ever-loving minds. It had driven Ophelia nutty, but her mother had thought it was hilarious and offered him protection in her dragon habitats. Her Aunt Cressida had compared it to the effect their brother had had on women, and all the Durrell woman were forced to agree. They had all thought it was hilarious, though Draco was far less excited about it. He was never rude or hurtful to anyone who showed interest in him. He was always polite, kind, and gentle. A true gentleman really, which did absolutely nothing to curb the attention and desires of the female population, and a few men that hoped that he said no because he played for their team instead.

Ophelia’s best friend, Willow, had commented that he must be asexual to be able to ignore everyone so keenly, but Ophelia knew better. He had let it slip once that he had been in love once, but that their love was more forbidden than even Romeo and Juliet’s. “She’s happy now with someone else,” he had told her one night over a bottle of tequila. “And that’s all that matters to me.” Ophelia never questioned it.

Quietly she and her other cousins had begun to run interference for him. He was focused on his work, and they were tired of the distractions and fighting the love-sick fools. The fact that he had taken to making his meals or eating only with their family, hadn’t stopped all the way-ward hopefuls from trying to slip love potions into food or drink. That had been a step too far for Tatiana. The resulting dress down the entire reserve had received by their usually sweet Avia, as everyone called her, rivaled only the one that had to be given for her Veela son all those years ago.

During that time, Ophelia and Draco had quietly ventured to France and England, partially in a secret mission from Avia, to consolidate her father’s holdings, as the last male heir to the House of Black, she felt these holdings should now be returned to the proper Black vault and be given to Draco. Her decision had left him with a fantastic idea. Within the privacy of Gringott’s the Head of the House of Malfoy and House of Black, altered his name from Draco Lucius Malfoy to Draco Malfoy Black. A small change to most, but a move that allowed him to distance himself even further from the man and life he had once led, and the path that his father had decided for him. Draco almost wished the selfish bastard hadn’t died in Azkaban so he could see the name change appear on all the family documents. He’d like to think his mother, Salazar rest her soul, would at least have been proud to see him take the Black name and know that her family, crazy though they may generally be, had been there for him in the end. 

While there, Draco transferred his wills, vaults, estates and the like to all reflect his new life. The Malfoy vaults were left open only to allow deposits from several independent businesses, and charitable donations to Hogwarts, St. Mungo’s, the War Relief Fund, and the Reserve. He tasked his account manager with keeping the account’s balance as low as possible while keeping it open and the money flowing - without fees or recourse. The House of Black vaults were consolidated - combining everything from his mother, grandfather, Tatiana’s father, and his vaults. There was something about his name change and the actions that he had taken financially that left him feeling as if a massive weight had been removed from his shoulders. He celebrated back in Romania, surrounded by the Durrell women and their children, all of whom had come to love and protect him so fiercely, and didn’t regret his decision one bit.

With the money sorted, a new name, and a lot less distraction from would-be suitors at the Reserve, Draco had turned his attention fully into training under each of his Aunts, each woman, a Master in her own right, learning their skills and passions, while sticking close to Ophelia and their other cousin Jared. Draco had always been a bit of a loner, having only really had Theo Nott, Gregory Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson for friends growing up, so a smaller social circle was something he was used to. Ophelia had stepped easily into his circle when his friendship with Pansy had soured, and the cousins shared the pursuit of knowledge and titles within the range was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

Jared had become his other closest friend after that, and while they were family, Jared’s mother being his Aunt Cressida, it had taken their shared passion for Antiopean Opaleyes and Hebridean Blacks to cement their friendship. That, and a close call for Draco in his second year on the range, that had seen Jared save his life. A favor he returned the following year. Both bore the scars from those close calls and like many other Dragon tamers, had matching tattoos to commemorate their near-death experiences at the claws of the dragons they loved.

Throughout it all though, there was not a single date, kiss, or even a moment of flirtation on the part of Draco. If he saw a woman flirting with him or noticed someone trying to get to close, he acted obliviously and the subtle changes he made to his routines to avoid specific individuals were only recognized by those closest to him. That he had entered the Dining Hall that day and froze in place at the sight of the woman next to Charlie Weasley, had instantly caught Ophelia’s attention. Sure, Draco had covered it fast enough, sliding his signature mask into place, but she knew him well enough to have seen the wide eyes and the smile that had tugged at his lips. Even his voice had a different lilt to it as they had bantered about his behavior.

The sister side of their friendship made her instantly feel curious and nosey, but the veela side of her was trying to reign in her jealousy and anger at this woman that was so close to the attractive redhead. She studied her carefully. There was a mass of unruly dark hair piled on top of her head, and while her skin was deeply tanned, it seemed more natural than from the elements. Even from where she was standing, Phee could tell she must be beautiful, but nothing about her screamed exotic or breathtaking. Just as she was about to ask Draco about her, she saw her turn towards them. Beside her, Ophelia felt Draco’s entire body stiffen, and a glance between them let her know that the woman had spotted him. She was saying something to Charlie and was heading towards them.

“Phee.” His whisper was urgent, but a quick look told her he still hadn’t moved.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked quietly.

“Stall,” he responded, his eyes not leaving the form slowly winding its way through the crowd. Grabbing his best friend’s wrist, he met the grey eyes that so deeply mirrored his own. “I’ll be in the hatchery.” Gone was the urgent tone; he had used moments ago. In its stead was a quiet resignation.

Ophelia nodded her head, glancing back over her shoulder as the woman continued to approach, “Go. I got this.”

She didn’t wait for a response from him, moving swiftly she began walking towards Charlie Weasley, who’s eye she made sure to catch. Charlie had a thing for her. It wasn’t a secret. Most guys had a thing for her – it was the Veela in her blood, she told herself, though Charlie seemed different. Now wasn’t the time to think about that though, Ophelia told herself, being sure to keep an eye on the woman as she maintained eye contact with Charlie. It was how she found herself bumping into the woman – accidentally, of course.

“Oh, I am sorry!” she exclaimed, reaching out to steady the woman she’d off-set. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, fine. I think,” she stammered back.

“I’m so sorry. I was distracted, I guess.”

Glancing towards where the beautiful blonde was looking, the other woman smiled, “Charlie certainly has that effect on people.”

“Does he now?” Ophelia replied, eyeing this woman wearily. She had heard that Charlie had been spending time with the brunette who had accompanied him and his brother back to the Sanctuary and that they were incredibly close.

If the other woman suspected her, her response gave nothing away, “Girls back home are all suckers for ruggedly handsome Dragon-tamers.”

Ophelia laughed despite herself, “Not much different than here then.” Both girls chuckled at this. “I don’t believe we’ve met yet.”

“Probably because you haven’t been home since we got back,” came a male voice joining them.

Ophelia turned her attention to the man in front of her. Putting on her most dazzling smile, she greeted him with a kiss to both cheeks. “Hello, Charlie.” She smiled at his blush. She knew it was from the way she said his name, no matter how she tried, she could never plainly say his name. It always came out like a purr. “Are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend before her visit ends?”

At this, the girl snorted, “Oh, I am not his girlfriend.”

“She dated my brother,” he clarified quickly. “And she’s not visiting. She’s your Aunt’s new assistant.” Taking a steadying breath, he gestured from one woman to the other. “Ophelia Durrell. Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Phee.”

Both girls gaped at him. “THE Hermione Granger?” breathed Ophelia as Hermione gasped “Phee? PHEE? Phee?”

Charlie cursed his luck as he replied, “The same.” It covered both of their questions, and he hoped it would deflect their attention back to each other.

“It’s an honor to meet you,” enthused Ophelia, recovering first, as she offered her hand to Hermione.

“Likewise. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.” Taking the offered hand and shaking it firmly.

“Have you now?” she teased softly, her eyes shifting to Charlie, who once again blushed under the weight of her stare. Turning her attention back to Hermione, she apologized for not knowing she was working at the reserve sooner. “We’ve been going back and forth for the past few months, picking up new dragons.”

“How was New Zealand?” Charlie questioned, thankful for a way to change the subject.

“It was good. We lost one of the males, but we were able to bring home two females and five eggs.”

“That’s amazing!” turning to Hemione, Charlie quickly added, “We got an urgent message from the Oceania Ministry about a film crew that had wandered into a Dragon Den. Phee and a few others rushed down under to see what we could do for them and how we could help.”

“One of the dragons was shot,” added Ophelia, “so we weren’t able to return right away.”

“Were they able to heal her?”

“Yes, but she was skittish and unsure.”

“Let me guess, DB worked his magic.”

“Doesn’t he always.”

“DB?” asked Hermione, feeling as if she had heard the name around the Reserve before.

“My cousin,” interjected Ophelia, casting a warning glance at Charlie. “He’s an intuitive Dragon healer.”

“He’s also one of the best Dragon handlers I’ve ever worked with,” added Charlie begrudgingly.

“Oh, wait! I know! He’s the one that makes the Dragon sculptures I’ve been admiring!”

Ophelia smiled brightly. “That he does.”

“He sounds fascinating. Can I meet him? I’m assuming he’s back since you’re here now.”

Charlie and Ophelia quickly exchanged glances. Ophelia knew there was more to the story than she knew of currently, but she couldn’t see how they could avoid each other if Hermione were staying on. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” began Charlie.

Phee recognized the look in his eyes and the way he was trying to lead her to dissuade Hermione from meeting Draco, yet she couldn’t help but feel like they needed to rip the bandage off of whatever history these two seemed to have. “Of course,” she said, smiling at the woman in front of her, noting that she was indeed stunning when she smiled.

Charlie shot her a glare, adding on that it was impossible to know where he could be at this time. “He’s in the Hatchery,” countered Ophelia. “I can show you the way if you like.” Ophelia tried to keep the mischief out of her eyes as Charlie glared at her, and she hoped her smile conveyed the innocent offer she was trying to pass off.

Hermione cast a curious glance between the two of them, aware that there was something deeper at work between them. “I’d like that,” she said at last to Ophelia, giving Charlie a look that clearly stated _what’s your problem?_

Charlie bristled at being outmaneuvered by the beautiful veela but had no choice but to follow as Hermione was already following her out of the hall.

Hermione had quickly fallen into step with Ophelia as they turned to leave the dining hall. She was vaguely aware of Charlie’s footsteps behind her as she asked Ophelia if it was possible to get one of the Dragon Sculptures for herself.

“It’s possible,” replied Ophelia. “He tends to give them away to whoever he feels whenever he feels like it, but I’ve seen him sell the odd one here or there for orders or for non-magicals who want to buy one.”

“Oh! Is there a lot of demand from non-magicals?” asked Hermione, careful to use the term she heard many times since arriving in Romania. Muggle, she had learned very quickly was considered almost as derogatory a name as mudblood in the Romanian culture where magical and non-magical persons lived side by side throughout the country. Nucumage, Phoebe had told her, which had stemmed from the Romanian phrase meaning not with magic. Hermione had found it interesting that nonmagical people were still treated with respect and not fear or skepticism the way they were in Britain.

“Yes, he’s always popular in town whenever we go for any of the markets. He says the dragons know which people are magical and which are not and go to who they're meant for.”

“Like wands?”

Ophelia smiled. “Yes, very similar.”

“Does he put magic into them?”

The other woman shrugged, “I don’t believe so, but that’s a question you should ask him yourself. Here we are.”

Behind them, Hermione heard Charlie take a deep breath as if to steady himself, and she glanced at him for a moment before finally walking into the Hatchery behind Ophelia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Are you ready for HG to see DM again? What do you think her reactions going to be? What do you think **his** will be? As always thanks for reading! Your comments and kudos mean the world to me! _


	10. What Happens at the Hatchery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione follows Ophelia to the Hatchery to meet her cousin, the elusive "DB" with Charlie hot on their heels. What Hermione finds there more than takes her breath away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A million apologies for missing last week lovelies and being a day late to boot!! I managed to pinch a nerve in my neck/shoulder AND have a dental procedure that didn't go to plan. Ouch. I'm on the mend, but sitting at my laptop is agony currently, so I've been writing from my phone - which is just another form of torture for me! (I know first world problems) but I really wanted to get this chapter out to you guys, so I'm sucking it up for a bit because the best draft is on my laptop._
> 
> _This chapter finally gives you the long-awaited connection between HG and DMB and also includes some of my favorite world-building of the RDS thus far. I really hope you love it, and as usual, I don't own HP, I just play in the world JKR created._

###  **What Happens in the Hatchery**

Hermione felt her heart stop. Standing in front of her behind a series of glass boxes was a man she hadn’t seen in many years. Relief and anger flooded her body simultaneously, and she was moving past Ophelia to stand in front of him before she even realized what she was doing.

“Give me one good reason not to hit you again,” she demanded stopping in front of him, her arms crossing across her chest as her hip jutted out.

Draco glanced up at her, a myriad of emotions playing across his face as he took her in from top to bottom. He hadn’t expected to feel his anger dissipate so quickly as he met her eyes. Gods she was beautiful, he thought, taking in the fire that burned within her expressive amber eyes. Shoving down his own emotions, he found himself casually stating the obvious, “Because I'm holding a dragon hatchling.”

They all looked down at his hands where a small white dragon was winding around his fingers.

Charlie was the first to speak, “He’s a beaut.”

Draco nodded. “And the first. I think at least - the other two looked close. Charlie, want to give us a hand?”

“Absolutely,” the other man replied, jumping into action with Ophelia not far behind him.

Steeling himself, he met her penetrative eyes again, “Granger?”

She nodded, stepping forward to meet him at the side of the box that he had shifted too. “Here,” he said, nudging Hermione with his hip and tilting his head to the left, “stand here. Put your hands into the earth and get them covered then pull them out to the heat lamp and let it bake in and do it again.” She nodded again, following his instructions. Draco nodded in approval as he watched her for a moment before turning his attention back to the others standing around the box.

“Charlie? Ready?” At the other man’s nod, Draco continued, “Good. Take this one.” He slid the dragon in his palms to Charlie, who had already caked and baked his hands with mud as Hermione was now doing.

“Who's supposed to be working here right now?” demanded Ophelia, her hands already muddy as well.

“No idea,” Draco replied, his anger showing slightly with the words.

Turning his gaze back to the two eggs still in the glass, he nudged one slightly with his fingers, as the shell reacted, he turned back to his cousin, “Here Phee. This one. Starting to go.”

Ophelia nodded, moving closer to where Charlie was. Slowing, she began directing short blasts of warm air on to the egg with her wand to encourage its hatching.

Draco moved back to Hermione. All traces of his anger were gone as he took in her steely resolve. They both knew there was much still to discuss between them, but that right now they had a job to do. As Draco very obviously was in control, Hermione gave him the same respect and attention she would give any teacher, albeit begrudgingly. For his part, Draco approached her as he would any new apprentice into the Reserve, carefully explaining what they were about to do. “It's imperative that whatever happens next, you remain calm. Keep your voice soft. Do you understand? Opaleyes don't respond well to noise right after birth and can go into arrhythmia if startled.”

Hermione gaped. “They can have a heart attack?”

His hands once again in the mud, Draco nodded. “Yes. Normally they are born in a den made of damp earth and mud. Their mother will blow warm bursts of air on their shell to let them know it's safe to hatch. Loud noises tell them it's unsafe. I'm going to teach you the spell we use to blow warm air on the eggs to encourage them to hatch; ready?” She nodded.

 _Suaviteraura._ She repeated the words softly after him. He said it slower, carefully annunciating each syllable, and again she repeated. He nodded his approval then slowly and carefully summoned the remaining egg towards them wandlessly. “How did you do that?” she whispered in awe.

He smirked at her. “I'll teach you that later. For now, take out your wand,” Draco slipped behind her, covering her wand hand with his own. Directing her hand, he showed her the wand motion that went with the spell. “Relax,” he whispered in her ear. “I'm not going to hurt you, Granger.” Shifting their attention back towards the egg, he swept her wand in a soft circle, occasionally casting a gentle flick at the center, before repeating the loop. “Think of directing the air like a caress over your lover's shoulder. You want it to be gentle and inviting.”

Hermione did everything in her power not to shiver at his words; she shifted her focus from the tantalizing way his breath caressed her ear, back to the dragon egg before her. Steadying her breath, as his opposite hand touched her waist, she reminded herself not to think of the attractive wizard behind her. Repeating the spell as soothingly as she could, she repeated the wand movements, timing the flick at the center with the end of the incantation.

“Good. Now. Lean forward. With your other hand, you're going to push it more into the earth and then place your hand around it.” he moved his other hand from her waist to her wrist as she leaned forward. “See how Phee has her arm around the egg?”

Glancing at the woman across from her, Hermione shifted her body slightly to mimic her, “Like this?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, scooping some more mud towards the egg, “Like a cocoon. Opaleyes will guard their eggs individually within a claw so that when they hatch, they're sheltered from anything else.” He observed her as she repeated the spell, “Good. Just like that, Mi.”

She shivered at the use of the name. He stilled behind her. “Sorry. Habit.” He mumbled.

Before she could respond, she heard a tap tap from the egg in front of her. “Draco,” she worriedly hissed, directing his attention to the egg in front of her.

He chuckled. “It's OK, Granger,” he assured, making sure to go back to using her last name. “Direct the air to where the tapping came from. Good. There you go.” He paused, nodding for her to repeat the spell, “OK Granger, hold it steady.”

Reaching around her, he tapped the egg with his finger. Hermione felt a broad smile spread across her face when she saw something tap back. Across from them, they saw Phee step back triumphantly as her egg finally hatched fully and another dragon hatchling made its way out and into her hands.

“Alright, little guy. Your turn” encouraged Draco. He gave the shell another tap. And Hermione directed the air towards where the next tap came from. They repeated the process several more times until the shell began to splinter in the same place. Another few moments passed before the shell began to fall away, leaving a hole just large enough for a little dragon head to emerge. Draco guided Hermione’s hand to the dragon, and she had another puff of air directed at the hatchling, letting him know it was safe to come out. With a few more taps, the dragon was out of the shell, and Draco was guiding Hermione’s hands into the mud to scoop the dragon up and bring it close to the heat lamp and back down again. She marveled at the small creature in her hands. “Beautiful,” she breathed watching as the mud covered the dragon but didn’t stick even with the heat of the lamp on its back

“Yes,” he agreed. Though his cousin could see his attention wasn't on the dragon any longer. She cleared her throat, and both Draco and Charlie turned to her. “Let's get these beauties checked and then eating.”

Charlie looked at Draco, who nodded. Stepping back from Hermione, he spoke softly, “Granger, you’re going to take Charlie's place there next to Phee; we'll check them in the order they were born.” She nodded, moving carefully to where Charlie had been standing as Charlie followed Draco to another area.

“First dragon hatching I take it?” asked Ophelia softly, slowing her movements so Hermione could repeat them with her dragon. Hermione nodded. “What did you think?”

“It was amazing. Are they all like that?” Hermione enthused, her eyes twinkling with excitement.

Ophelia shrugged. “More or less. Look around. Each of the dragons requires a different environment, so the pens are adapted to their needs. The heat lights we’re using go up and down to adjust temperatures. These need mud, but Swedish short snouts need snow. Peruvian viper tooth lives in the rainforest, so they need rain. Norwegians need extreme heat. Some respond to sound-“

“Draco said loud noises would cause arrhythmia in Opaleyes?”

Nodding, Ophelia continued, “Yes exactly. But Hebridean Black's respond positively to sound. So it just depends on the breed.”

Mulling over her words, Hermione gave voice to her next thought, “What would've happened if we weren't here to help?”

“It depends on the breed. Welsh Greens are born in large numbers together with no issue, but Norwegian Ridgebacks are very territorial. If more than one is born at a time, there's a chance that they will attack each other and one or both will die as a result.”

“Oh.”

“You're up, Phee,” said Charlie rejoining them. Ophelia smiled at him before walking away with her dragon, “Alright there, love?” asked Charlie leaning against the glass as he watched Hermione continuing to warm her dragon, his dragon still in his hands.

Hermione nodded. “Amazing.”

“Uh-oh,” he replied with a smirk.

“What?”

“I've seen that look before-“

She wrinkled her brow at him, “What look?”

“That one. On your face right now,” Charlie chuckled.

“What’s wrong with it?” she huffed.

Shrugging his shoulders as he shook his head, he smiled again, “Nothing. It's just the face of a person falling in love with dragons.”

Hermione giggled. “I think you might be right. It was just so amazing.”

Charlie couldn’t help the massive grin that spread across his face. He loved dragons and always had. Working at the preserve had been one of his biggest dreams. Not everyone in his life understood his passion for the animals, and he was always excited when someone did. “We're always looking for people to pick up shifts in the hatchery, you know.”

“Really?”

The excitement was evident in her eyes, and he smiled kindly at her, “Always.”

Turning back to the dragon in her hands, she felt an unexpected jump in her heart, “Oh, I might take you up on that.”

“Not me. Him.” He replied nodding to where Draco was standing in the corner behind a glass wall. “He writes the schedules and rotations for the hatchery. It’s one of his passions.”

“Really?” she asked glancing from Charlie to Draco and back again.  
Just as Charlie opened his mouth, they were interrupted by a massive shout.

“What is going on in here?? Who are you? Get away from there!”

Hermione felt the dragon in her hands' jump and immediately dropped her face closer to it, trying to soothe it with her words as she lowered the animal into the mud.

“Oi. Relax. There Tim,” hissed Charlie turning to the man.

“Bugger off Weasley. Shouldn't you be off taking care of your brother?” the other man, Tim sneered at him.

Hermione shot daggers at the man, but before she could speak, she heard a hard voice behind her “Jensen. You need to take a step back. Now.”

The man in front of them paled significantly at the unmistakable order. “Uh. Sorry. Black. Didn't see you there,” mumbled the man.

“Obviously.” The resemblance to Snape at the moment was unmistakable to Charlie and Hermione, and they each bit back a snicker.

“Where were you?” demanded Ophelia, stepping forward, the baby dragon in her hands.

“Blimey. Did one hatch?” asked Tim dumbfounded.

“Try all three, Jensen,” came the stern reply.

“Bloody hell. I didn’t think… I thought… there-there was time,” he stammered.

“Hermione, why don’t you go with Draco to have your dragon examined?” interjected Charlie, knowing what was about to happen. Hermione nodded, happy to separate herself from the scene. She followed Draco silently, not seeing Ophelia place her dragon in another glass with silencing charms in place before she could hear her begin to rip into Tim.  
Draco held the door to the glass anteroom open for her, and then cast a couple of charms which changed the conditions in the room to mimic that of a cave. “Is this what an Opaleye den would be like?” Hermione asked, trying to take in the transformed room at once. Nodding, Draco motioned for her to join him at the table in the center of the room.

Clearing his throat, Draco directed Hermione’s attention to a House Elf in the corner dressed in a khaki skirt with a white frilly shirt and a blue bow in her hair. “Apollonia, this is Hermione Granger, she helped with the hatching today. Hermione this is Apollonia, she’s one of the Hatcher Elves.”

Apollonia’s eyes went big at the mention of Hermione’s name, and she curtsied deeply, “Apollonia has been hearing Missy was here but did not expect to meet her.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Apollonia,” Hermione replied cordially. Though still not a fan of House Elves in general, she had learned since the first time that she arrived at the RDS, that House Elves were a deep part of the Romanian culture and history. Unlike the ones in Britain, they were treated fairly and honorably – given wages, time off, and guarantees of clean homes and clothing without the worry of neglect or abuse. They were renowned for their in-depth knowledge of magic, and ability to protect their human masters in times of peril. At the reserve they were also taught to read and write and were used instead of quick quills to dictate to, often recording notes or findings for wizards throughout the range, as they were just as fast as quick quills without all the inclination to exaggeration. The biggest surprise to Hermione had been that each House Elf can choose the area that they want to work in within the RDS, leaving them more loyal and happier than she had ever seen any house elf before. 

“Apollonia, please cast an image of our newest addition while I check his vitals.” Apollonia snapped her fingers, and instantly, a quill and notebook were in her hands. Hermione stretched her hands out towards the elf and watched in amazement as an image of the dragon began to take shape on the page within the notebook quickly.

Beside her, Draco began to cast several spells. Images flickered above his wand as he did so, and Hermione was awed to see the skeleton, and then organs of the dragon appear above them. Draco nodded his head, happy with the results. “Looks like our final dragon is a female.”

“What were the other two?” asked Hermione without thinking her desire for knowledge overruling her emotions once again.

“One of each,” replied Draco, continuing to check the dragon, occasionally stating numbers or acronyms to Apollonia that she quickly wrote down in the book next to the image she had sketched.  
“She looks good,” he said finally done. “Now the only thing left is to name her.” He turned his grey eyes to Hermione’s soft brown ones. “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Really?” she gaped

“Close your mouth, Granger. It’s a most unattractive look,” he teased. He chuckled at the flash of irritation in her eyes. “Yes, really. We take turns. She was your first. Only seems fitting that you do it.”

Hermione felt touched by the gesture. Holding the dragon closer to her face, she eyed it carefully, before asking if there were any rules or traditions she needed to follow. Draco had smirked but shook his head no. Telling her anything goes where Dragon names were concerned. Hermione felt the corners of her mouth tug upwards. “Dawn,” she whispered. “I’d like to name her Dawn.”

Draco nodded, and Apollonia added the name to the top of the paper in the book. Draco thanked Apollonia for her help and asked her to please gather the information of the new dragons to send to Tatiana and Portia, Grandmaster of Dragonology and head of the Dragon Division. Apollonia had curtsied to both of them before leaving, and Draco had ushered them back into the main room to feed the dragons.

The change between the anteroom and the central hatchery was immediate, mostly due to the hushed yelling that was coming from where Tim was still being dressed down by Ophelia, who dismissed the man right before Draco and Hermione rejoined them.

“Arrogant prick,” she muttered under her breath, turning to meet them. Charlie bit back a laugh, as he approached with a tube rack filled with vials of the most appalling looking potions, Hermione had ever seen.

“What is that?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust. The boys both chuckled a bit, as Ophelia explained that it was Dragon baby food.

“It smells as bad as it looks,” added Charlie with a laugh grabbing a pitcher from under the encasement.

“What’s in it?”

Draco took great pleasure in informing her that it was mainly sheep’s blood and whiskey, with a healthy dose of mangled sheep. Hermione barely bit back her lunch, grumbling that she shouldn’t have asked.  
The trio of handlers around her all laughed at that, before placing each dragon back into the mud together.

Ophelia conjured a ladder, stepping aside as Draco climbed upon it. Charlie mixed each vile together into a larger pitcher, along with a couple of potions that looked a lot like the antibiotic potions she administered to her patients after surgeries. “This is the fun part,” whispered Charlie, giving Hermione a conspiratorial wink. Upon the ladder, Draco had summoned a long sleeve that he had slipped over one entire arm up to his shoulder, and Hermione watched in amazement, as Ophelia cast a transfiguration spell that transformed the bust of an Opaleye dragon in her hand into a life-size puppet head complete with a neck, which Draco then slipped on to his arm. Lowering the head into the glass case, Draco wandlessly cast the spell that he had taught Hermione earlier, causing a puff of warm air to cascade over the heads of the dragons. The baby dragons chirped, like baby chicks, each hopping up and down, and trying to rub against the puppet-head Draco was controlling.

“Amazing,” breathed Hermione as she continued to watch Draco in reverence as the blonde wizard interacted with the three baby dragons, nuzzling and blowing hot air on each of them. At a nod of Draco's head, Charlie levitated the mixture he had made up to Draco and began pouring it in small bursts through a funnel that appeared next to Draco's sleeve. The mixture disappeared into the puppet’s head, and moments later, the Dragon on Draco’s hand seemed to be dry heaving and then regurgitated the mix into its mouth where each dragon clamored forward to eat. Hermione stood transfixed, watching as the three handlers worked together. Charlie was continuing to fill and pour the mixture into the funnel, Ophelia directing the spell to expel puffs of warm air from the Dragon’s nose, and Draco dutifully ensuring that each Dragon ate, and no one had more than the others. When each dragon had had its fill, Draco directed the head to create indentions in the mud, and Ophelia set each firmly with a puff of fire to harden it immediately. The dragon’s nose nudged each baby dragon into one of the holes and covered it with mud, giving each one an individual puff of air before pulling back. Charlie lowered the heating lamp above the encasement and cast a spell to shield from outside noise while leaving a steady heartbeat to comfort the little dragons.

It took them a few minutes to clean up everything, with Hermione stepping in to help as she could before she finally let Charlie lead her out of the hatchery. Ophelia and Draco staying inside for a few more minutes to ensure the next person on duty came in and was aware of the births, and rewriting shifts to provide the proper coverage.

Hermione’s head was abuzz of all she had seen within the hatchery, marveling at the passion and extent that the Sanctuary worked at to provide for the Dragons in their charge. She had heard that the RDS was unlike any of the other Dragon sanctuaries in the world, and she could see now how they had gained their reputation for being the best.

For all that she had seen, when Draco and Ophelia exited the hatchery a few minutes later and Charlie had excused himself to speak Ophelia alone for a minute, she had not expected her emotions to come rearing back in her head full force. Her mind revolted at the tenderness that she had witnessed him bestowing on the baby dragons and the kindness he had shown Apollonia. There had been a point in their past where she could say that the man in front of her had become the man, he had promised her he could be, but those thoughts were quickly swept away by the bitter anger she felt for him.

Draco seemed to sense the change in her mood, approaching her cautiously, hands in his pocket. “I just wanted to say thank you for all of your help in there today.”

“Is that all you have to say to me after all this time?” she challenged the disbelief evident in her voice.

“What else would you like me to say Granger?” he countered his eyes unreadable behind the mask he had snapped firmly into place before approaching her.

“Gee, I don’t know how about ‘I’m sorry for being such a dick to you.’” She exclaimed, stepping closer to him.

“You expect me to apologize to you after the stunt you fucking pulled.” He sneered. “You really are full of yourself, Granger.”

“Oh, I’m full of myself? At least, I don’t use people to get what I want and then cast them aside like an empty cauldron!”

“No, you just fucking back out on your promises and don’t show up when you say you will.”

“I do no such thing! I keep my promises – especially to people I care about! I don’t just turn my back and walk away like a coward.”

“This coming from the woman who stood me up ON MY BIRTHDAY! Tell me, were you sitting somewhere watching me wait there like a fool for you? Or were you off having a drink with your other boy toys celebrating the way you did my heart in?”

Hermione found herself sputtering as his words caught up with her. “What are you talking about? I didn’t stand you up. You told me not to come.” Draco snorted. “You did! You owled me and told me not to come. You told me you were done with my services and taken everything you needed from my bleeding mudblood heart.”

Draco winced at the word, and furrowed his brow, doubling down on his words. “When’s the last time you heard me call you that, Granger? And if I believed that why would I ruin my entire birthday waiting for your royal swottiness to show up?”

“No, you weren't there,” she shook her head, trying to make sense of what he was saying, “You sent me an owl. You told me not to come. That you were leaving… that you never wanted to see me again.”

Taking a step closer to her, he searched her eyes, looking for the lies, but seeing only sincerity mixed with her rage and anguish. “I didn’t tell you NOT to come, Granger. I was there. I waited for you.”

“But why didn’t you owl me again? Afterward? Why didn’t you look for me?” her confusion bubbling into frustration as she tried to make heads or tails of it all.

“I owled you that night, and the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. I sent you a letter every day for months; they all came back, unopened. I tried every few weeks after that, but you didn’t respond. You NEVER responded.”

“I’ve never gotten a single owl from you since that one,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “You-you broke my heart.”

“And you broke mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Well what do you think? Was it what you were expecting? I'm fairly certain it wasn't what Charlie and Phee were expecting. LOL. Thanks for reading and showing some love!_
> 
> _xx The Wordsmith_


	11. The Fellowship of the Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Did you know?” she asked Charlie, careful to keep her voice low.
> 
> “No. Not a clue. You?”
> 
> Ophelia shook her head no for a moment before pausing. “I mean I knew there was someone, but Hermione Granger? Never in a million years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hey lovelies! Happy Friday! Woke up feeling really good, and cast a quick glance through the feedback from yesterday's late post. Merlin! You guys know how to make a girl feel good! I felt really bad that I missed posting last week and was late this week, so I decided that a second chapter this week was in order. (Plus I have two other things due today and my brain just isn't having it. Boo!)_
> 
> _Heads up, there is some French in this chapter. I've been learning it for the last few years, but still used Google Translate as I really didn't want to muck it up. (My apologies to anyone that's French if I butcher your beautiful language now or in the future.)_
> 
>   _Happy reading! xx The Wordsmith_

###  **The Fellowship of the Shot**

Charlie pulled Ophelia away for a private word as soon as she exited the Hatchery, and she had known at once that he didn’t want to talk about work. She hid her smile, as she thought about the last time they had had a conversation like this, and tried not to lose herself in the bright hazel of his eyes. Ophelia prided herself on being able to restrain her Veela nature, she wasn’t full-blooded after all, but there was something about Charlie that always made her forget herself. Their conversation hadn’t gotten far when they heard shouting coming from Draco and Hermione. Listening to their words, it was clear that they had been together, and it hadn’t ended well.

“Did you know?” she asked Charlie, careful to keep her voice low.

“No. Not a clue. You?”

Ophelia shook her head no for a moment before pausing. “I mean I knew there was someone, but Hermione Granger? Never in a million years.”

“I didn’t even think they were friends.”

“Apparently they were more than that.”

As the shouting dimmed, Ophelia felt her face blanched at the look on Hermione’s face. “Can you still apparate directly into your place?” Charlie nodded, stating that he left it open for George.

“You grab her, and I’ll grab him, and I’ll meet you there in 10 minutes?”

Charlie nodded, seeing Hermione’s face drop. He knew from experience that tears were imminent.

“Bring liquor.” He called over his shoulder, stepping in front of Hermione just as the sob escaped her throat.

“What the hell!” Draco exclaimed watching as the redhead whisked her away. “Phee!”

“Stop.” She said, gripping his biceps. “Think of where we are. Think about what you were doing. This is not the place.” Draco nodded, knowing, of course, that she was right. They were standing outside the hatchery, on a central walkway. It was a miracle no one had happened upon them as it was.

“I have to talk to her.” He pressed.

“And you will, but we need to get some things first.” He took a deep breath as he looked into the gray eyes that mirrored his own. He could see the concern swirling within them, turning them into the dusky gray of clouds before a snowstorm.

Nodding, Draco agreed.

Ten minutes later, Ophelia side-apparated the two of them into the living room of Charlie Weasley, a bottle of tequila in one hand and a bottle of Ogden’s finest in the other. “Dealer’s choice,” she said, offering them to Charlie as he greeted them.

“Best keep the Firewhiskey from Hermione. It tends to…”

“Remove her inhibitions,” offered Draco.

Charlie nodded. “Something like that.”

“Don’t worry. I learned that trick long ago. It’s good for Phee though,” he added, casually sitting down at the dining room table in the adjoining space.

“Oh yeah?” asked Charlie, his eyebrow-raising slightly as he took in the woman in front of him.

“I can hold my own with it,” she countered, smacking Draco as he snorted at her.

“Apparently, I’m the only one that feels the need to remove their clothes under the influence of Ogden,” remarked Hermione, entering the room. Draco noted that she had changed her clothes - swapping her work uniform for jeans and a t-shirt. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as he read the words across it.

_“Deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.”_

“What?” she asked, stopping at the table.

“Your shirt,” Draco replied nonchalantly as he opened the bottle of tequila. _“Deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised.”_

Hermione, Charlie, and Ophelia glanced down at the words across her shirt, “Talk to Tolkien to me.” Charlie immediately burst into laughter as Hermione raised her brow at Draco. “You would pick that one,” she muttered, joining them at the table.

“And who’s fault would that be?” he mused pouring a shot into the glass Charlie handed him.

She scoffed at him as she grabbed a couple more glasses to put on the table.

He watched her closely before asking if she would rather, he picked her favorite instead. 

“Do you even remember it?” she asked, her arms crossing across her just and her hip jutting out as it did when she was annoyed.

_“You have been chosen, and you must, therefore, use such strength and heart and wits as you have.”_

She gaped at him for a moment, before snorting and telling him that wasn’t it. 

“Sure, it wasn’t.”

“I thought you liked the _‘all that doesn’t glitter, not all those who wander are lost’_ quote” mused Charlie.

“No, that’s a good one, but I always preferred _‘All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.’_ ”

“Now who’s quoting favorites?” smirked Draco at her as he kicked back his shot. He noticed with satisfaction the hint of a blush crossing across her cheeks as she ducked her head.

“You know Tolkien?” asked George walking into the room.

“Don’t you?” countered Draco, pouring another shot into the next glass.

“Yeah, but I’m trying to figure out how you do.”

“I’m guessing in the same way that you do.” The three men glanced at each other before turning their eyes on to Hermione.

“What? I like Tolkien, okay. Everyone should read him.” She defended snatching the freshly poured shot from across the table.

“Every dragon tamer knows Tolkein,” chimed in Phee, _“Never laugh at live dragons.”_

_“Speak politely to an enraged dragon,”_ added Charlie.

_“It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations if you live near him.”_

Draco raised his hands in supplication to Hermione, the point now more than obviously made, as George pulled up a chair to join them at the round table. “So, what’s with this merry meeting?” he asked, looking about, his eyes landing on Ophelia, “And just who might you be?”

“Down boy,” replied his brother smacking his arm.

“We’re here for second breakfast,” remarked Draco taking the next shot in front of him.

“Not elevensies?”

“Surely we’re through to afternoon tea by now.”

“Good point. Dinner?”

“Supper,” stated Ophelia turning to George. “And I’m Phee, and this is –“

“I know who he is,” interjected George.

“Nice to see you again, George.”

“Mr. Malfoy.”

“It’s Black now actually, but you can call me Draco. How’s business?”

“Business is good. We opened that second store in Hogsmeade, and I’m looking at an adding a location in France.”

“Let me know if I can help.”

George raised his glass to him in a toast. “Will do.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and looked from one man to the other. “What was that about?”

“Business,” replied Draco casually. 

“Phee, did you remember that thing I asked you to bring?” Charlie asked, suddenly cutting in.

“Oh yes, I left it outside.”

“Let me help you,” added Charlie, grabbing George as he stood up, “Come along, brother.” George began to protest, but his brother’s glare promptly shut him up.

“Well that’s not obvious at all,” scoffed Hermione pouring herself another shot of tequila.

“Weasleys aren’t exactly known for their subtlety, Granger.”

“Tell me about that interaction with George.”

Draco took a moment to look across at her. This was a look he was used to seeing on her. Determined. Strong. Unyielding. It was a term that had changed dramatically for him since the moment he saw his aunt torturing her on the floor of the Manor. Bellatrix had always been unyielding – even her wand was described that way, but Hermione had held her own against her. Thru unimaginable torture, Hermione had never given in to her demands. It was the only time that Draco could remember his aunt ever meet a force as steadfast as she could be. The perspective shift at that moment had been the final piece Draco needed to let go of everything he had been raised to believe. Later he might even say that it had been the moment that he had realized how deeply in love with her he had been, and sitting across the table from her, staring into her hardened face, Draco knew that he could very well be in danger of falling for her again. Not that his broken heart would allow it to be that easy.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before recognizing the crossroad they were at. Nothing, but the truth would do from here on out in the conversation they were going to share. No matter how brief. “I gave George the money he needed to rebuild his shop after the war.” Whatever answer, Hermione had been expecting, that was not it. He smirked at the look of confusion that passed over her face. “I had always liked the twins. Their pranks were top-notch, and their spellcasting remarkable. I felt guilty that Fred died. I feel guilty about a few others, as well, but Fred… I had always admired them, and I knew what it was like to be alone. I saw George briefly at the funeral. It-it was the only one I went to. He didn’t - he didn’t spit at me or yell at me or blame me. He just nodded his head, like he - like he understood.” He paused for a moment, clearing his throat, before continuing. “I was already making repatriations and donating money to repair the alley, but I wanted to make sure that George especially was taken care of.”

“George would never have taken money from you.”

“No. He wouldn’t have. He refused actually when I offered initially. Didn’t want to make it easy on my conscious he said, so I offered him a loan instead – interest-free. I let him set the terms, and when he paid it in full, I asked how business was. He told me about the plan to expand to Hogsmeade.”

“You became his silent partner,” she supplied, her brain quickly filling in the gaps.

Draco merely nodded. “Everything I make off the store is reinvested directly back into it at Gringotts.”

“But why?”

“It’s not like I need the money Granger, and George is… brilliant. There’s no telling what he and Fred could’ve done if Fred hadn’t died. If there hadn’t been a war.” He shrugged, unable to continue to speak.

“I hate when you do that,” she whispered, refilling his glass and her own. Looking across the table at her, he merely lifted an eyebrow in response. “Hide who you are because you think people will hate you for it.”

“Granger, people already hate me enough because I’m a Malfoy and a death eater-“

“Ex-death eater,” she corrected.

“Semantics.”

“You are a good man, Draco.”

“No, Mi. I’m not.”

She met his eyes and felt her head spin at a depth of the storm swirling within them. It had taken her nearly all that last year to convince him that he was a good man, worthy of love, of her love, and then it had all just crumbled around them. Sighing, she reached, into her back pocket and pulled out the letter she had received all those years ago. The envelope had permanent creases from being folded and stained with watermarks. Tears, he thought, gazing at it uncertainly as she slid it across the table to him. Her tears - that she had shed over him. Over them. Over what could’ve been. Sensing movement out of the corner of his eyes, he cleared his throat, motioning for his cousin who was lingering in the doorway.

Slowly the trio came back into the room and sat at the table. Charlie swapped seats with George, as the younger redhead, slid his hand over Hermione’s on the table. Draco ignored the stab of jealousy in his heart at seeing the comfort she took from the contact. Reaching for the bag he had brought with him and dropped at his feet when he sat down, he pulled out a stack of letters and two journals. Meeting her eyes, he slid them next to her letter on the table. She gaped at the pile, her expressive eyes showing the confusion and surprise she was feeling. Tapping the stack of letters with his wand, the string around it came undone, and he pushed the top letter towards her.

“Do you want some privacy?” asked Ophelia, staring at Hermione as she fingered the letter gingerly.

Shaking her head no, Hermione slipped her finger under the seal to open the letter. “No. I’m sure everyone in this room will hear about it all eventually. They,” she signaled to Charlie and George, “know just about all my secrets, as I’m sure you know Draco’s.”

Ophelia nodded as George merely mumbled something about not knowing all of them, earning him a smack from Hermione.

“Still violent as ever I see,” remarked Draco, hesitantly taking the single letter from the table. George nodded, carefully dodging another hit from the witch next to him.

Draco immediately regretted opening the letter. Reading the words on the page made him want to vomit. The handwriting certainly looked like his, and the words sounded remarkably like the stupid prat he had been as a child, but none of it reflected the relationship he had developed with Hermione. The intimacy and turn a phrase were all wrong. Even the way the letter was signed was in such an utterly pompous way that he wouldn’t have even thought to use at that time. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he worked to steady his breath. How could he prove that it wasn’t him that had written this?

Stealing a glance across the table, he saw the tears rolling down her face. He knew that the first letter had been filled with fear and worry over her. He had believed that only an emergency or act of the Gods would’ve kept her from meeting him that day, and that letter showed it. The anger hadn’t surfaced until the third letter, after he had spotted a picture of her in the prophet, laughing with Potter and Weasel the next day. Standing up suddenly, he ripped the letter out of her hand abruptly and slammed it down on to the table next to hers.

“Wha? Draco!” she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion and her face stained with tears.

“If I sent these at the same time, why are they so different? Look at how I address you at the beginning, at how I signed my name.”

Everyone around the table leaned forward at his accusations. Each curious as the next to spot the differences. Glaringly obvious differences. In the letter, Hermione had received he addressed her as ‘Mione, amongst other unkinder things, and in the letter, Draco had written he had addressed her as Mi. There were other terms of endearment, things no one else had ever heard him say but her.

“Chaton?” asked George.

“It’s French,” Draco replied not taking his eyes from her face, smirking as a deep blush spread across her cheeks.

“It means kitten,” she supplied, her blush growing more profound as she met his eyes.

“All of these terms of endearment are in French,” added Ophelia taking the letter to inspect it more closely.

“Oui.”

“We spoke in French a lot because we were both fluent.”

“I didn’t know that,” George emphasized.

“And neither did the person who wrote this,” speculated Ophelia setting the letter down.

Draco considered Hermione carefully across the table before speaking, “Ce n'était pas moi, chaton. S'il te plaît crois moi. J'ai promis de ne plus jamais te faire de mal, et j'avais des projets pour nous..”

She nodded her head, smiling faintly at him. The blush still pinking her cheeks.

“Merlin Malfoy. I don’t even like blokes, and I’d do you.”

Charlie laughed at his brother. “They don’t call it the language of love for nothing George.”

“What I don’t understand,” Ophelia chimed in, pouring fresh shots for everyone, “Is who would do something like this in the first place.”

“Anyone who hated Draco,” supplied George.

“It’s true. I’m far more unpopular than Hermione.”

“But who knew you were meeting that day? Who would’ve had the time and ability to do something like this?”

Hermione’s eyes went wide, “Ron.”

His brothers gasped and stammered, but Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Wasn’t Weasel King training to be an Auror at that time?”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t have told him you were going to meet Draco.” Stated George.

“No, but she’d tell Harry,” guessed Charlie.

“I didn’t have to,” she said, looking at Draco.

“I told him,” confirmed Draco looking from Hermione to Charlie.

“But why you?”

“Because they had become friends.” Stated Hermione matter-of-factly.

“I hate when you call us that,” he grumbled across from her, pouring another shot.

“Doesn’t make it any less true prat.”

“It’s not my fault. I wrote to Potter to say thank you for speaking up for my mother and me. I know it’s the only reason we didn't go to Azkaban.” Hermione cleared her throat. “You too, but the Chosen-One spoke up for us, and that sealed the deal.”

“That’s true. There’s not much Harry could have asked for back then that they wouldn’t have given him.” Charlie echoed.

“Yeah well. How was I supposed to know the git would write back.”

“Yes, how indeed,” laughed Hermione. “Then, of course, it became like everything else between the two of you – a competition.”

“Naturally.”

“Which meant neither of them would stop replying to the other’s letter,” she informed Ophelia with a twinkle in her eye. “By the end, you were owling with him more frequently than I was.”

“Details.”

“How did you know he told Harry?” asked Ophelia.

“HE told you, didn’t he?” Draco snapped.

“Of course, he told me, Draco! What did you expect he was going to do when you asked him that?”

“Keep his damn mouth shut,” grumbled Draco. “As any good friend would.”

“Ah, but you said yourself you weren’t friends,” countered Hermione with a laugh.

“So, you knew.”

Hermione’s laughter ended abruptly as she dropped her gaze and nodded. “Yes. I knew.”

“For how long.”

“Do you want to do this here? Now?” Hermione challenged glaring at him.

Raking his hands through his hair, Draco sighed, drained his shot, and stood up. “No. I don’t.”

“Where are you going?” she asked, rushing to stand as he turned to walk away.

“I need some time to think.” He replied, his steps not slowing.

Hesitantly she followed him, “Draco-“

“And you need to talk to Weasel.” He advised pausing. “Because mark my words, if he’s responsible for this…” the warning hung in the air.

Rising, Charlie crossed to the other man, “If it turns out that our brother was responsible for this, we will take care of it personally. Hermione is like our sister. George and I will take care of anyone who dares to hurt her.”

Draco met Charlie’s gaze head-on. Understanding the threat that the other man was making. “I’ll be in the valley until Saturday. You have until then.” Hermione quickly followed him out of Charlie’s.

“Dray.” Draco paused. “Please don’t leave like this.”

“Would you have said yes?”

“Wh-what?” she stammered.

Turning abruptly, he looked her in the eye. His eyes dark and swirling even in the dim light. “Would you have said yes?”

“I-I don’t know,” she replied truthfully. Her eyes were misting with pain and confusion as unshed tears threatened to spill over. She felt the heartbreak she had suffered years before washing over her again. “We were so young, Dray.”

“Did you even love me?” he wondered, his own eyes clouding now with tears.

“Yes,” she reassured, placing a hand tentatively on his chest. “Oui, Draco. Je t'aimais de tout mon Coeur.”

Nodding, he tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “Je te vois Samedi, chaton.” He gave her a wink and then was gone.

Shivering, Hermione returned inside in time to see Ophelia saying goodbye to the boys. “It was nice to meet you, Hermione,” she began, letting the other woman in before she addressed the room. “And just so we’re clear, you all are here as guests of the Durrell family; Draco is a Durrell and we won't hesitate to bring our wrath upon anyone that hurts a member of our family. Are we clear?”

"Crystal," replied Charlie. Nodding her head, Ophelia spun on her heel and disappeared out of the room.

"Merlin's Beard, do you two know how to pick'em," laughed George heading back to the table, and pouring a fresh round of shots for the trio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Wanted to wait until the end of the chapter to add the usual disclaimers, cause I didn't want to spoil the Tolkien bits, but I obviously don't own anything by THAT great man nor JKR. I just happily play in the world of HP, and am grateful for the imagination and words of Tolkien that have always inspired me so._
> 
> _That being said, what did you think??? I love reading your comments and reactions to the things I post. I know a few of you have been making guesses already about what happened already, but keep them coming! Until next time, xx The Wordsmith_


	12. Musings and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next few days passed with Hermione alternating between working and spending every spare moment reading the letters Draco had given her... and dealing with incorrigible Weasleys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Happy Wednesday loves! I'm overwhelmed by the love and positive reception this story continues to draw. World-building this story is one of my favorite things to do, and I love knowing everyone is as invested in this story as I am! There's been a bit of commenting about the use of French in the story, and per some reader feedback, I am going to include translations for all the French phrases at the end of the chapter. I appreciate your feedback, and would love to know if it works or doesn't work._
> 
> _Usual disclaimers, I do not own HP. It's JKR's world and I just continue to play in it and reshape it to my whims. I'm trying not to abuse the newfound friendship of my wonderful new Beta from L+Q, so errors continue to be mine atm along with the plot. Any recognizable literature quotes belong to the original author and are used with the utmost respect._

###  **Musings and Memories**

_“I don’t like how he looks at you ‘Mione.”_

_“Give it a rest, Ronald.”_

_“He’s not to be trusted ‘Mione. He’s a snake.”_

_“He’s a person Ronald. Not a house.”_

_“But he’s a Slytherin.”_

_“And so was Snape!”_

_“He was different!”_

_“How?”_

_“He just was. Dumbledore trusted him.”_

_“And Snape KILLED him.”_

_“Because Malfoy wasn’t man enough—"_

_“Excuse me?! What were you about to say? Surely you weren’t about to criticize a 16-year-old boy for not being able to take down of the greatest wizards in history. That’s not what you were about to say.”_

_“No. I wasn’t. But his father-“_

_“His father dragged him into war and fight that wasn’t his. Just like the rest of us. Harry went crazy living with a piece of Voldemort in his head. Imagine what it must’ve been like to sit at a table and share a meal with him!”_

_“I’m sure it made him feel very important.”_

_“You’re unbelievable.”_

_“I can’t believe you’re defending him.”_

_“And I can’t believe you’re letting what house someone was in dictate the way you treat someone.”_

_“Hey, I’m not the prejudice one! They are. Blood purists, ring any bells?”_

_“Really? And what would you call despising an entire group of people based on what house they were put into at 11?”_

_“Cause it knows where they belong!”_

_“Then you should probably rethink your friendship with Harry – since that’s where the hat wanted to put him!”_

_“But it didn’t!”_

_“Only because Harry asked it not to!”_

_“Because he’s not evil! He’s not dirty and underhanded –“_

_“Or ambitious, cunning, determined, clever, a strong leader?” Ron scoffs. “Those are all traits of Slytherin Ron. Harry was all of those things. And so was I. Do you honestly think we haven’t done some underhanded and dirty things over the last few years? No one’s hands are clean, Ron. War made us all dirty.”_

_“I know. I was there, remember?”_

_“NO, YOU WEREN’T THERE. YOU RAN AWAY. WHEN THINGS GOT TOO HARD YOU JUST UP AND LEFT. Like a coward. Like a self-preserving Slytherin.”_

_“I’m not like them! I came back! I told you I regretted it! That I was sorry!!”_

_“We were all sorry!! Don’t you get it? We all did things, Ron. Things we’re not proud of. Things we can’t unsee or unhear. You don’t have to like him, but you don’t get to pretend like you know anything about him. He deserves grace! He’s as much as a victim as we are.”_

_“Do you think you’d be getting any of that grace if they’d won? If his Master had won?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“You can’t really believe that!”_

_“He had a chance to see us lose. HE didn’t take it. HE showed us grace when we needed it most. They gave us grace and it gave us the chance to win. We wouldn’t be here if Draco had identified us at the Manor. We wouldn’t be here if Mrs. Malfoy had said Harry was alive. We’re here on the other side because they chose to protect us instead of handing us over to Voldemort.”_

_“You’re mental! That crucio must’ve done your head in –“_

_“GET OUT.”_

_“What? ‘Mione, no.”_

_“GET OUT NOW!”_

_“You can’t make me leave it’s George’s flat!”_

_“GET. OUT. NOW.”_

 

Hermione woke up in a cold sweat. She hadn’t thought of that fight in so long. The fight she and Ron had had just after the first anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. She couldn’t even remember how it had started, but she remembered walking around the flat, cleaning up as Ron followed behind her, spitting fire and hatred about Malfoy and Slytherins in general. His words had felt like poison and the hate he was spewing had made her question absolutely everything she thought she knew about the redheaded boy she had known for the past eight years.

She hadn’t told him about how things with Draco had changed at that point. Hermione had known Ron’s jealousy and his prejudice against Slytherins would make him blind to anything good they could do. Ron didn’t care that it was Slytherins that had spent the summer rebuilding Hogwarts. That Draco had volunteered his fortune in reparations for both the alley and Hogwarts. That many others like Theo Nott whose Death Eater father had died just after the battle, and Blaise Zabini, who had remained neutral during the war, had been the first ones to offer their time and money in amends. Ron wasn’t interested in hearing about their restitution, reparations or probations. As far as he was concerned it was all hush money, bribery, and bad acting.

That fight had magnified all of Hermione’s fears tenfold. She knew Harry didn’t share Ron’s feelings – she had talked to the other man extensively about it as they had made a joint decision to testify on behalf of Draco and his mother during the trials directly after the war. And she knew that while he was busy in Auror training, Harry and Draco had reached a truce and even a tentative friendship – not that Draco condoned that kind of language. But if anyone could be called friends it was the two of them. 

It had made her smile and touched her to know that Harry was capable of such deep forgiveness. She had never been prouder of the man that she had called Brother than she had been during that time right after the war. 

The juxtaposition between Harry’s forgiveness and Ron’s hate had been eye-opening. And still, she had been talked into dating that stupid git a year later. Molly she knew was partly to blame for that. The woman was a level of maternal that bordered on manic and manipulative and no-one, absolutely no-one was immune to her meddling. Hermione had literally given in to dating Ron just to shut the woman up at Sunday dinners, but it had gone from nagging about dating Ron, to moving out of George’s flat, to marrying Ron and popping out as many kids as possible as soon as possible. It had taken George AND Charlie to get her to lay off, and when Ron had cheated…

“You alright, love?”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, seeing George in her doorway, worry etched all over his face. Nodding, she invited him in, and skootched over in her bed to make room for him to join her. “I was dreaming. Remembering, really.”

“Want to share?” he asked handing her a hangover potion.

“Thanks,” she replied, quickly taking it. “We need to talk to Ron.”

“Charlie’s already working on it.”

“And Harry.”

“I owled him and Gin this morning. Figured you’d want them both here with you.” He added, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“Thank you, George,” she said quietly, leaning into him.

“So,” he began, “You and Malfoy.”

“Me and Malfoy,” she confirmed.

“Tell me honestly, was I better?”

Hermione shoved him away laughing. “I’m not answering that!”

“Why not?” he queried waggling his eyebrows.

“For the same reason I didn’t tell you when you asked about Fred,” she reasoned.

“Ok. Ok. I’ll give you that, but,” he continued watching her closely, “Who was first? Me or him?”

Heaving a sigh, Hermione threw a pillow at him, as she got out of bed, “You were. Happy now?”

“Immensely,” he replied, leaning back against the headboard with his hands behind his head, a shit-eating grin spread across his face.

“You’re incorrigible,” she groused, “No get out so I can get ready.”

“Oh, now that Malfoy’s back in the picture, I don’t get to watch anymore.” Laughing as she began to throw articles of clothing at him while calling him a pervert as he slipped back out the door.

 

**(^.=.^)**

 

The next few days passed with Hermione alternating between working and spending every spare moment reading the letters Draco had given her. She hadn’t made it to the journals yet. The letters had been hard enough. Her heart ached as she read his words – often alternating from confusion and despair to anger and resignation and back again. The first several weeks of letters were the hardest for her, the raw emotion pouring off each one as she recounted each day from his perspective while reflecting on her own days of pain and turmoil.

_“Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.”_ He had written in one of the earliest letters. The Hamlet quote had been one of her favorites, and she had thought of it numerous times after he had rejected her. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he used it. Hamlet had been one of his favorites by the Baird. It was then she had come to realize that these were the ones he wrote while drinking. His heart more open and vulnerable from alcohol. The letters were filled with sonnets and poetry, lines of love and adoration combed from the pages of some of their favorite books. It had been one of the great unifiers for them – their shared love of books. For all the times he had called her a swot or a bookworm, it had turned out that he was every bit the bibliophile that she was, and she had loved him all the more for it.

One letter stood out to her in particular.

“Ma très chère Mi,

This is the last letter I’m going to be writing to you from England. I’m leaving tomorrow for Romania. I’ve been offered a position at the Dragon Sanctuary. I don’t even remember applying for the job there, but I know I must take it. Nowhere else wants me. Not even you want me it seems. Though I always knew that being with you, was like looking at the sun for too long. It draws you in and leaves you blind, and though the pain is great; you find yourself drawn into its warmth and beauty over and over again.

> _“Now, I’m not going to deny that I was aware of your beauty. But the point is, this has nothing to do with your beauty. As I got to know you, I began to realise that beauty was the least of your qualities. I became fascinated by your goodness. I was drawn in by it. I didn’t understand what was happening to me. And it was only when I began to feel actual, physical pain every time you left the room that it finally dawned on me: I was in love, for the first time in my life. I knew it was hopeless, but that didn’t matter to me. And it’s not that I want to have you. All I want is to deserve you. Tell me what to do. Show me how to behave. I’ll do anything you say.”_

I have never understood de Laclos words more than I do at this moment. I’ve destroyed the Manor. I’ve sold the land. Tomorrow I start a new life. Tout ce que je veux, c'est te mériter. Maybe this will be enough… or maybe it will be enough to help me forget. No. Not forget. I will never forget you. Your laugh and smile, fill my waking moments, and your screams of pain turn the sweetest dreams of you into my most haunting nightmares.

Henry James said it best, _“It has made me better loving you… it has made me wiser, and easier, and brighter.”_

Tout ce que je veux, c'est te mériter.

You may never read this. I may never see you again. I may never be able to say the words, I’ve long felt in my heart. So, I will say it here for you and hope that one day you will know the truth.

Je t'aime tellement, chaton, et tu me manques plus que tout. Prends soin de toi mon amour.

Cordialement votre,  
Dray.”

She read that final letter from England more than a dozen times… Tout ce que je veux, c'est te mériter. All I want is to deserve you. Je t'aime tellement, chaton, et tu me manques plus que tout. I love you so much, kitten, and I miss you more than anything. Prends soin de toi mon amour. Take care of yourself, my love… the words rang in her ears day and night. Night and day. He loved her. He missed her. Mon Amour. My love. All the years she had wasted. All the years they had missed.

Jane Austen was right, we are all fools in love.

 

 

_Author's Notes_

###### ***French Translations*** (courtesy of Google translates)

Ma très chère Mi = My dearest Mi

Tout ce que je veux, c'est te mériter. = All I want is to deserve you. 

Je t'aime tellement, chaton, et tu me manques plus que tout. Prends soin de toi mon amour. = I love you so much, kitten, and I miss you more than anything. Take care of yourself my love.

Cordialement votre = Yours faithfully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sorry for all the quotes, but I think in a world where books are a primary source of entertainment, there would be a lot more quoting and resonating. Of course, that might just be my pop culture brain talking! LOL Let me know if the translations worked where they were placed (I'm hoping I didn't miss any!) and as always, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Your comments and kudos mean the world to me! See you next week! xx The Wordsmith_


	13. There Once Was a Man Named Luca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into some of Draco's life before Hermione arrived at the RDS and the man who believed in him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! This week's chapter has a bit of french, BUT as it's a lengthy conversation, it's all in English for you. The French dialogue shared is in **bold** , so you know it's still technically French even though it's translated already. (Inspired by a Fanfic I read over the weekend) Any French not already in English will be translated at the bottom of the chapter as it was in the previous chapter (I'm so glad that worked for you guys!) I did a lot of research for this chapter while world-building, and I'm a fan of how it came out, so I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I've been so blown away by all the love you guys have given this story! I have at least a half dozen more chapters already written, and hopefully, I can keep up so that you guys won't see any delays in this story. I do want to ask is there anything you want to see? Any particular character interactions or pieces of the Reserve or Dragons? Let me know, and I might be able to work it in for you! 
> 
> Usual disclaimers apply. I'm not JKR. I don't own HP. Grammar errors, plot bunnies, and dialogue is all mine, though! xx The Wordsmith

###  **There Once Was a Man Named Luca**

Draco felt as if he had time traveled back to his first year on the Reserve. Giving Hermione the letters and journals had left him feeling so vulnerable, that all he had wanted to do was immerse himself in work and hideaway. He had gone to his refuge in the valley. To the glass igloo, he called home when he was on duty. He sat at the small desk along one wall and gazed absently at the picture upon it of the Uncle he had only come to know since moving to Romania.

Luca was a pureblood Squib from the village outside the sanctuary. He had met and wooed Tatiana’s daughter, Phoebe while teaching other Squib children on the range. They had married, and he had taken over for his father, in the Mechanics bay a couple of years later. Luca was a hopeless romantic, and a no-nonsense type of fellow. They had twin daughters, named Eve and Zoe, named not after the Black family tradition of constellations but for what Luca was most grateful for – life. More specifically, the new life he had built with Phoebe. It was this kind of sensibility that had so drawn Draco to him in the first place. Never had he known anyone so content and thankful for the simple things in life. While Portia had opened her home to Draco, taking him in as the son she had never had; Luca was the one that had stepped in as the real Father figure to him. Forming a bond and friendship with the young man, that Draco had never experienced from any other man in his entire life. And certainly not from his father, Grandfather or Godfather Severus.

Luca’s third language was English, which was good, but his second language, French, was perfect. The moment he had learned Draco was also fluent in French, he had begun speaking ONLY in French to him; it amused him to no end that many people had no idea what the two were talking about, and he often took to having conversations in hushed tones with Draco whenever others were about to make them think he was plotting something dastardly. He managed to make the simplest of conversations sound conspiratorial. Draco recalled one of the first conversations they had, sitting under a tree during a break transporting an ill dragon from one of the steeper mountains back to the clinic.

_(began flashback)_

_**“Who do you write to?”** Luca had asked, in French, sitting down next to Draco._

_Draco had raised an eyebrow at the older man, surprised by his straightforwardness, which was so unlike the roundabout pureblood conversations he had experienced. **“Your letters. You write one every day it seems. I never see you mail them.”**_

_**“I don’t mail them,”** he had replied dejectedly eyeing the latest letter he had been writing._

_**“What do you do with them then? Burn them?”** _

_Draco eyed him wearily as the older man took a skein of water out. **“No. I keep them.”**_

_Confusion rippled across Luca’s face, **“But why?”**_

_Heaving a heavy sigh, Draco accepted the skein gratefully, taking a deep sip before replying, **“Because the person I write them to doesn’t want to read them…”**_

_Luca had taken the younger man in for a moment, before clapping a hand on his shoulder and giving him a soft smile. **“Come then, back to work.”**_

_A couple of weeks later, Luca had approached him one day and handed him a package. **“Here.”**_

_**“What’s this?”** Draco asked cautiously taking the package in his hands. He had not received a single piece of mail since arriving at the Sanctuary months before._

_**“For your letters,”** Luca replied, sitting down next to the young man at the table. **“If you cannot send them, use this. Keep them safe. Make a collection.”**_

_**“A collection?”** repeated Draco curiously, turning the beautiful leather-bound journal over in his hands._

_**“Of your thoughts. Your memories. Your days. You write anyway. Make it purposeful. And this,”** he added, tapping the journal with his finger thoughtfully, **“Keeps them together.”**_

_Draco nodded. Running his fingers over the embossed silver stars across the front of the black journal, noting as he did so that they made the constellation of his namesake. **“Thank you.”**_

_**“Someday, she may want to read them,”** Luca affirmed thoughtfully._

_**“How?”** marveled Draco, trying to figure out how Luca had known he was writing to a woman._

_Luca gave a knowing smile. **“I am old. I know things. Youth does not hold all the secrets.”**_

_(end flashback)_

That had been the first journal he gave Hermione. Luca’s words were echoing in his brain. “Un jour, elle voudra peut-être les lire.” Someday, she may want to read them. He wondered if she had read them, and his feelings were torn between hoping that she had and hoping that she didn’t.

Gazing out the window at the clear sky, he saw one of the new female dragons soar above the tree line. Feeling a familiar tingle in his hands, he opened the current journal he was working in and pulled out a small field kit of watercolors — yet another thing he owed to Luca.

_(begin flashback)_

_**“What are you doing?”** asked Draco, finding Luca outside of the Garage one day, a notebook in one hand and a pencil in the other._

_**“Sketching.”** The other man said, looking at him as it was the most obvious thing in the world._

_**“But why?”** _

_Luca considered the young man before him carefully before replying. **“Do you know of Einstein?”** Draco nodded. **“Did you know that while he was working on his theory of relativity that he worked as a Patent officer?”** Draco shook his head, never having cared. **“It is believed that the reason that Einstein was able to focus so clearly on his theories was that his job was what many considered ‘menial.’ It was the simple, non-challenging position that left the rest of his mind free to think on things on a broader higher level. All the Durrell women believe that if you focus your brain on something else, you will find the answer to your question.”**_

_Draco’s brows knitted in confusion, **“What question?”**_

_**“Any of them, by focusing your brain on this, you free your subconscious to work on that.”** _

_Nodding, Draco tried to piece together the dots, **“Does this only work with sketching?”**_

_**“Merlin, no! Avia washes dishes without magic and then cleans the kitchen top to bottom by hand. Cressida weeds. Out in the garden, day or night, snow or rain, on her hands and knees, pulling weeds.”** He laughs at the image, then motions for Draco to lean in as his voice lowers, **“For Portia, it is sex. A LOT of sex.”** He chuckles again, shaking his head, before continuing a moment of pride in his voice, **“For my Phoebe, it is baking. One year, she was struggling with a substitute for unicorn horn in a potion. Was worried about people hunting them for it, you know? Everything she tries fails. She spent six months baking, morning, noon, and night! SIX MONTHS!”** He chuckles again, his eyes far away for a moment. **“We all gained at least a stone each eating everything she’s making. Maybe closer to two for me!”** he laughs, patting his belly fondly. Draco joins him, chuckling softly. **“One day, she’s making something called a baked Alaska. One of my favorites. She’s in the middle of torching the meringue on the outside, and it hits her – torched ground opaleye dragon shells. She tries it and BOOM! Works perfectly.”**_

_Draco marvels at this; thinking for a moment, **“What does Phee do?”**_

_**“Flies mostly.”** _

_**“And you sketch?”** _

_**“Yes. I sketch, or I break out my polishing and servicing kits.”** _

_**“For brooms?”** _

_**“Yes.”** _

_**“But why two?”** _

_**“Sometimes these old eyes, they give me problems and don’t let me see to sketch the way I used to. But these hands,”** he holds out the large calloused hands for Draco to see. **“they know how to polish and care for a broom in their sleep.”** He chuckles again, returning to his sketchbook._

_Draco sits beside him, deep in thought. **“Let me ask you,”** begins Luca, pulling him from his reverie. **“What did you do when you were young? Before the world told you, ‘boys don’t do that’’?”**_

_The answer had come instantly to Draco, **“Paint.”** Luca raised his brows at him, surprised by the strength behind the word. **“My mother,”** continued Draco slowly, stammering slightly over the words, as if they were painful to remember, **“My mother was an amazing artist. When I was little, she used to let me use her paints and brushes. She would set up a little space for me, next to her in the conservatory, or tucked away in her parlor. I loved it. Spending the time with her, trying to capture the light, seeing the colors flow and blend.”** Draco’s eyes darkened suddenly, **“It was fine until my father found out. He had been furious. Not appropriate for the Malfoy Heir he had said. I was crushed... My mother gave up her painting too. She said it wasn't the same after.”**_

_Luca nodded in understanding, **“Fathers can be like that I’m afraid. Quick to decide what their sons can and cannot do to uphold the family name in the right way. But, you are an aristocrat. Surely British pureblood society expected you to have a presentable talent.”**_

_**“Piano,”** Draco sighed. **“I am classically trained; been playing since I was 4.”** _

_**“Might be tough to get a piano out on the range,”** teased Luca, bumping the young man’s shoulders with his own, **“but perhaps we can find you some paint.”**_

_(end flashback)_

Draco’s mind led him to recent events. To Hermione’s eyes aflame with anger and passion; the flecks of gold that flared to life when he was near. The triumph that had radiated over her body as she had helped hatch the newest opaleye. The look of awe and wonder that had enveloped Hermione when she had held that baby dragon in her hands. Dawn. He thought, beginning to paint. She had named her Dawn. Draco began to paint; filling the page with flecks of brown and gold and iridescent wings, as he tried to translate his heart on the page. 

_(begin flashback)_

_Draco had forgotten about the conversation with Luca entirely until a few weeks later when Luca had found him in his igloo. The room was sparse at best, with nothing more than the standard bed in its center. Luca had tsked, telling Draco it would not do. **“You need a desk and a chair. Bookshelves. Space for yourself to dream!”** The man had declared passionately in French._

_Draco had merely shrugged him off, but Luca would not be deterred. He returned a day later with a desk and chair, a bookshelf, along with a tall wing-backed chair to relax and read in. Luca had thrown a soft package at him – telling him to enlarge it and make the bed properly. Smirking at Draco’s face as the package more than tripled in size. There is a blue sheet set with several plush pillows on the top of the pile. Under it was a heavy quilt, with hand-embroidered detail that Draco recognized from one of Luca’s wall hangings._

_**“I asked my sister to make this for you,”** he tells Draco, smoothing out the quilt with a loving hand. **“My mother wove this piece when she was a teenager — preparing to wed my father. Ana made it into the quilt for you – fearing for your thin English blood,”** he teases with a booming laugh. Draco notes that it is lined with a soft fur on one side, much like the traditional vests he has seen Luca wear while they work, and finds himself grateful for the thought. While he can cast a powerful warming spell, the winters in Romania are harsh, and living in a glass igloo doesn’t always offer the most warmth on the coldest of days._

_**“These colors are the standard from our village in Drăguș. It has how people know who we are. You are one of us now,”** he adds proudly clapping Draco on the back. The bright floral and geometric shapes in colors of red, blue, green, purple, burgundy, and black stand out strikingly against the dark background, yet don’t overwhelm. They match a rug on the floor and towels that Luca has placed along the bottom of the glass igloo for privacy._

_**“Now, you have a place to use this,”** continued Luca handing him one more package. Inside had been a field watercolor paint set with a brush that automatically refilled with water and cleaned itself with a spell so that there was less to carry with it. He could also change the brush itself into different widths and styles by simply tapping it on the picture of the brush he wanted within the lid of the paintbox. It was probably one of the most thoughtful things Draco had ever received, and that fact that Luca had given it to him, made it one of his most prized possessions to date._

_Many days later, while talking outside of his workshop, Luca asks Draco how the art is coming. Draco merely shrugs telling him he hasn’t tried it yet. **“But why not?”** splutters Luca his disbelief evident._

_**“I’m not an artist Luca.”** _

_**“Every person is an artist, Little Dragon,"** he replied, using his favorite nickname for the younger man. **"When you create something, when you place your heart or emotions good or bad into it, you become an artist. It is as simple as that.”**_

_**“Luca, I have no talent for painting.”** _

_**“Talent! Who says any one person has talent? Do you think people looked at the cubist painting of Picasso and went oh yes that’s talent? Or looked at Jackson Pollock dipping his hands in paint and throwing it on the floor and went oh yes! That man has got talent! Nonsense! If you had no talent, no desire to paint at all, to be an artist in some way, you would not have had the conviction you did when you told me you used to paint! Tell that voice in your head to sit down and shut the fuck up.”** _

_Draco had snickered at the man’s swear words. Loving the reactions of the people around them at the passionate tone and overt swearing, the gentle giant was doing. Still, he had no idea how to sit down and let go. **“I am a Malfoy,”** he finally said, identifying the voice in his head. **“And Malfoys do not do things unless they are great at it.”**_

_**“That is bullshit.”** Luca spat out in return. Turning the young man to face him, he looked him deep in the eyes, **“You are also a Black and by extension a Durrell. And they believe in following the spark that sets their hearts aflame. It doesn’t matter what your father may have said or thought. This is about YOU, Draco. This is about what ignites worlds within you.”**_

_The words rung in Draco's ears for days and his dreams were haunted by visions of these two powerful men in his life fighting – like an angel and demon upon his shoulders each determined to guide him down a different path. After another week of Draco not even attempting to paint, Luca had told him they were going on an adventure. Holding out his hand, he extended a small gardening spade towards Draco. Recognizing that it was a portkey, Draco placed his fingers on it and felt that familiar pull out his navel as they left the Reserve. Landing moments later in a less than graceful manner, Draco and Luca took a moment to collect themselves before Luca led them out of the alcove they had landed and into a room just to the side._

_Luca crossed to a man behind the counter, asking if he spoke French, Romanian or English and the man responded correctly in all three languages. Smiling brightly, Luca signaled for Draco to join him and the man behind the counter smiled kindly at him._

_**“Welcome, Monsieurs to the Vincent Van Gogh Museum. You are right on time. You will have three hours in the museum. Here is your map, and there are members of staff available throughout the rooms of the museum.”** _

_Luca thanked the man heartily and headed to the entrance of the museum. **“Are you familiar with Van Gogh?”** asked Draco as they entered the first room._

_**“Mainly in name,”** replied Draco. **“I’ve never seen much of his work. My Mother had a reproduction of one of his pieces, I believe. Irises perhaps?”**_

_Luca nodded. **“You’ve mentioned your mother loved flowers, so that would be a fitting piece for her to have.”** They paused to look at one of the pieces._

_**“Van Gogh did not decide to be an artist until he was 27, and his work was largely unappreciated and unliked until after he died. His parents considered him to be a failure because he decided to be an artist, and yet there is not a person today that has not heard his name.”** _

_Draco nodded, taking in Luca’s words as they moved about the museum._

_**“How are we able to be here now? Aren’t they closed?”** asked Draco, noticing that they had seen very few others since they entered the museum._

_**“All the museums in Europe offer after-hours tours for Magicals. Each museum has magical pieces within its walls, and there are special positions only available to Magicals as they protect pieces or prevent muggles from accidentally unlocking things they shouldn’t. Many parents also bring their children during these hours – it allows them to enjoy the experience without worrying about bouts with accidental magic.”** _

_Draco nodded in understanding. Secretly he wondered why his parents had never sought to bring him to something like this. He was sure his mother would’ve been in heaven, surrounded by all the beautiful art around them. He had never been to a museum like this before, and he found himself pulled in by all he saw. Luca occasionally asked questions of the staff, asking where a particular piece was or what their favorites were, but by in large, the two men walked around in companionable silence. When one of them lingered particularly long over a picture, the other may ask what they thought or what they were feeling looking at it. It felt like they had only been there for a few minutes when they were walking back to the main hall._

_**“Ah right on time. Did you enjoy your visit?”** _

_**“It was wonderful,”** gushed Draco without hesitation._

_Luca beamed proudly. Happy that the adventure had been a success._

_**“Did you have a favorite?”** asked the man as he checked their portkey to return to Romania._

_**“Several I think,”** began Draco pausing for a moment, **“undergrowth with two figures, Wheatfield under clouds. Oh and apples, but that’s also cause I love apples.”**_

_The men chuckled at the young man’s statement. Luca privately thought that it had been so long since he had seen such exuberance from him._

_**“He is an artist himself,”** Luca confessed to the smiling behind the counter. **“He just doesn’t know it yet.”**_

_The man gave Luca a knowing smile before handing Draco the portkey – a small copy of the painting of the wheatfield under clouds. **“A souvenir for you then Monsieur. I hope Van Gogh has inspired you as he has many others, and that you find the courage to paint the world as you see it.”**_

_Draco smiled brightly as he looked at the painting in his hand. It was no bigger than a postcard, but it spoke volumes to him. **“Thank you, Sir. I hope to return.”**_

_**“We look forward to seeing you then! You should have just enough time to make it to the travel room before your portkey activates. Au revoir et bonne chance.”** _

_The two men shook his hand before moving to the travel room. Luca smiled to himself as he watched the way Draco continued to stare at the picture. Luca places his fingers on a corner just before it activates and several moments later they were once again standing in the Reserve._

_**“Luca…”** Draco felt himself stumbling over his words, his mind a jumbled mess at what he had just experienced._

_**“Thank you for sharing that with me, Little Dragon. I have always loved Van Gogh, and no one ever wants to go with me. Hopefully, you will not be too mad with me for tricking you into keeping an old man company.”** _

_Draco merely smiles and nods, telling him it was no trouble at all, and shaking his hand, they go off to their cabins. That night, Draco opens his paints for the first time finding himself once again overwhelmed with emotions. Seeing the print, he brought home as a souvenir Draco begins to experiment with the paints Luca gave him, losing himself within minutes to the feeling of color filling the page._

_The following morning he brings his notebook with him to Sunday brunch at Avia’s. Pulling Luca aside, he shoves the notebook in his hands. Luca gives him a confused look before Draco hurriedly tells him to open it. Luca opens the journal, and a smile instantly spreads across his face. **“Draco! These are wonderful! I told you that you were an artist. Marvelous,”** he continued flipping through the handful of pictures painted within the notebook. **“This one is my favorite!** ” he declares suddenly, flipping to a page that was inspired by the undergrowth painting of Van Gogh’s. **“There is such movement and play with the light on the flowers under the trees.”**_

_Blinking back tears, he quietly thanked Luca. Seeing Draco’s reaction, Luca places a hand on his shoulder and gives it a tender squeeze. **“I am proud of you for taking a chance and seeing what you could be.”**_

_Before Draco can break down entirely, overwhelmed by the simple praise, Luca gives him a firm hug. **“I cannot wait to share these with the girls!”** Draco breaks away laughing, his smile one of gratitude and he can’t help but take in the look of respect and esteem that Luca is giving back._

_The moment ended when the two men are called back into the dining room to share in brunch with the others, but it leaves Draco wondering if this is what a relationship between a father and son was supposed to be like. Shrugging off the thought, Draco hastily wipes his eyes and tells the older man to give his book back before he goes showing it off to everyone, and they enter the dining room bantering about whether to share his work with the rest of the family much to the amusement of everyone else._

_(end flashback)_

Gazing down at the picture in front of him, Draco smiles. It is of half of Hermione’s face, her eye full, the gold flecks dancing within the amber, a smile pulling at her lips, as she regards the baby dragon stretching in front of her. “If only you were here to see her old man. I’ve no doubt you’d love her.” 

****

###### Author's Note, French Translation (powered by Google Translate)

****

“Un jour, elle voudra peut-être les lire.” = "One day, she may want to read them." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, cause I know some of you will ask, you WILL find out what happened to Luca later. Promise. 
> 
> Second, the Van Gogh Museum is located in Amsterdam. I've been into the Gift Shop (and picked up several postcards of the pictures described to send home to friends) but sadly didn't have time to spend in the museum during my trip. The information on Van Gogh is factual and you can read more about him on the Van Gogh Museum website. I don't own VG but I admire his work and understand to a degree his madness.
> 
> Third, Luca's village is a real place in Romania. The colors, embroidery details and even some of the things he uses to decorate Draco's place are traditional to the area (such as hanging towels on the walls on in front of windows as half curtains). There are villages within the area where you can see people showcasing these time-honored traditions and skills and craftspeople that continue to honor their families legacies with their work. I haven't been lucky enough to visit Romania yet, but like most places, it's on my list! 
> 
> oh and the igloos that inspired the Valley are on my Pinterest page. They were inspired by igloos you can stay in to see the Northern Lights in Finland (though like most magical things, are bigger on the inside!) I mean how cool would it be to watch the Northern Lights, or keep an eye on pesky dragons, while laying in your comfortable bed in your glass igloo??
> 
> As always, I love hearing from you! Your comments and kudos mean so much to me and I read every one! Hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Until next time, xx The Wordsmith


	14. Truth Will Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, I had so many fun quippy things to say to ya'll about this chapter.... buuuuuuut, nope, I'm just gonna smile and giggle and drop the chapter and run. Enjoy loves! 
> 
> xx The Wordsmith

###  **Truth Will Out**

Finding Ron had been a challenge at first. While he had said that he was back home in England for good, to settle down with his new Eastern European beauty, it seemed that the welcome he thought he would receive hadn’t happened; nor did he have a job to return to as his brother solidly refused to allow him to work in the store again, and the only place he could find to live that he was willing to pay for was the Burrow or the Leaky. So, it seemed he had left England in the middle of the night, tail between his legs, and miffed that he was still seen as a reprobate heartbreaker and not the prodigal war hero returning home.

George had finally gotten annoyed and contacted Harry for help. Harry’s annoyance had been evident when he and Ginny had received the initial letter from George, briefly explaining the situation, and while he had decided to maintain his Auror training of not condemning until proven guilty, even he could admit that it would be something Ron would do. Very few things could bring his hotheadedness rushing to the surface like a Slytherin, and Harry didn’t doubt that the thought of Hermione and Malfoy together wouldn’t have sent him into a jealous rage. It wasn’t always the most natural image to see, but Harry and Malfoy had become friends during the year following the war, and if he knew nothing else, it was that Malfoy had loved Hermione. It had been why, Harry had been so surprised by the final letters they received, moreover by the heartbreak Draco caused her. It had been the exact opposite of what his previous letter from the blonde-haired Slytherin had said.

Using various contacts from his Auror network, as well as some very specific point me type spells, Harry and George finally caught up with Ron in Bulgaria, where he had unsuccessfully been trying to make his way in to join the Bulgarian team in one way or another. Funny enough, it had been Viktor that had distracted Ron long enough for his brother and best friend to catch up with him. And upon hearing what Ron as accused of, it had been the Bulgarian seeker that had knocked Ron unconscious with one punch before binding him with ropes.

“If is true, he hurt her in this way, you bring him back to me, da? We take care of it Bulgarian way.”

George had been all quick to agree, thinking nothing would have been more fitting for his degenerate brother, but Harry was just as quick to make apologies that they couldn’t let him kill Ron.

“Oh, I not kill him. I help him ne’er forget what he do to one so vonderful as she.”

Harry still had his doubts, but George again agreed, even going as far as to tell the Seeker that they were taking him back to the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary and inviting him to join them there after his game Saturday. “I’m sure Malfoy will be too busy catching up with Hermione to object that he wasn’t the one breaking in his face.”

Viktor gave a big booming laugh and clapped George on the back. “Da. Is deal.” Viktor had led them to a safe spot to activate their international port key; George carried back a letter to Hermione in one pocket and some new autographed quidditch swag from the Bulgarian on the other. He didn’t feel it necessary to mention that one time he had seen Viktor play he had rooted for the other team.

Ron was still out by the time they made it to Charlie’s, and everyone agreed it was probably best to allow him to wake up on his own rather than revive him. George passed out the Quidditch swag to Charlie, Ginny, and Harry, and made sure to hold back a couple of things for Draco. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the Bulgarian, but quidditch swag was quidditch swag, and he was reasonably sure Draco would at least appreciate the thought.

While they waited, Harry and Ginny read the letters in question, focusing entirely on the ones that Draco had sent and the one he said he hadn’t; Harry had shared his last letter from Draco and the one he had received at the same time as Hermione. It was evident to everyone that the letters signed Draco Lucius Malfoy, Slytherin Prince and Heir of the Mighty House of Malfoy, had not been written by him – no matter how much of a pompous git he had been at one point.

At some point, someone had pulled out alcohol, and it wasn’t until Harry saw Hermione take her second shot that he thought to ask what she was drinking.

“Tequila, Harry. Always tequila,” she had replied, tipping back her third shot without hesitation.

“Is that wise?” he asked skeptically.

“It’s better than the alternative,” she replied with a shrug.

“Which is?”

“Dealing with Ronald sober and very angry.”

Harry eyed her for a moment before nodding, and then doing the one thing he knew would set her off. “I need your wand. All of yours, actually.” He added hastily looking around the group.

There was a pause in all conversations as everyone looked at him with a combination of disbelief and wariness. Everyone had expected him to take Ginny’s wand. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, and everyone knew it was wise where Ron was concerned. But for the rest of them? It was Hermione that reacted first, drawing her wand out of her back pocket and placing it on the table. He could have her wand, she reasoned, as there were a great many things she could do wandlessly, including several hexes, and she had no problem using them on Ron should her suspicions prove valid.

Reluctantly, everyone else followed suit.

“So Draco’s here?” Harry asked Hermione quietly. At Hermione’s nod, he continued, “I hope you know that I want to see him too.” She nodded again, knowing that she hadn’t been the only one Ron had hurt with his foolishness.

“Where is he anyway?” asked Ginny. “I haven’t seen him at all since we arrived.”

“He’s in the Valley,” Ophelia stated as she walked through the door without knocking.

“Phee,” greeted Hermione, Charlie, and George simultaneously.

“Sorry for interrupting,” she added, sliding into the chair Charlie pointed out to her. “I figured you might need a more neutral party present to prevent hexing.”

As introductions were made, a slight stirring could be heard from the couch “Bloody hell. Wus goin on?”

“Showtime,” stated Ginny, kicking back a shot of firewhiskey.

“You’re up first, Harry.”

**(^.=.^)**

The first thing Ron was aware of was pain. The second was of being very uncomfortable. The third was voices. Familiar voices. But between the pain and the discomfort, it was hard to distinguish what was a priority. For a moment, he thought he heard Harry and tried to say his name, but that idea was quickly pushed off when he realized how much his head hurt. Merlin’s beard! What had happened. He thought he was having a friendly chat with Viktor Krum. He was finally making some inroads to being a part of the Bulgarian Quidditch team in some way. He realized he was not good enough any longer to be on the team, but he had a great love of the sport, was a decent strategist and understood what it took to win. That should count for something, he reasoned. Only no one else seemed to agree. He had spotted Viktor getting ready to enter the gate and had immediately shouted out to him, name dropping Hermione in the hopes to gain the larger man’s attention – all of which had worked beautifully might he add. But then there had been someone else. Yes. He remembered his brother and Harry suddenly there and wondering what the hell was going on — then being cold-cocked by that thug. Assaulted. Ron snorted to himself. He’d get him for that. Assault by an International Quidditch player on a War Hero that should make for some good headlines, and maybe a bit of cash. Which truthfully, he could use at the moment.

His mind made up. He focused back on the voices. Yes, that was Harry, and Gin if he wasn’t mistaken. There was a pause and some laughing, and Ron found himself wondering if maybe he had dreamed the whole Bulgarian thing up. Perhaps he’d been living in a dream for a while. A long, drawn-out, fun and somewhat sketchy, fantasy. Cause yes, he could most definitely hear Hermione and George. He must be at home! In the Burrow. It was the only explanation. He had fallen or tripped and hit his head. Oh, or maybe he had fallen off his broom during their last pick-up game. He’d been in a coma! Yes, that had to be it. He had been in a coma, and that’s why he was in pain. And his beloved family and friends were sitting in the room, all waiting for him to wake up. Worried sick over him. He could just imagine Hermione doing her nervous fret, pulling at her lip with teeth, and wringing her hands and using her scary knowledge of everything to shake up the doctors and make them work faster to fix him. Her childhood sweetheart and beloved. It was so sweet, really when he thought about it. He knew she’d come around.

He heard a door open and close and a voice he didn’t recognize, but the person was greeted merrily so it must be another friend. Maybe a doctor or nurse they had all come to trust. Yes, that had to be it. Trying to listen more closely to their words made him shift slightly, and something about hexing made him frown slightly. Who would they be hexing? Had someone hexed him? He certainly felt bad enough. Of course, Hermione’s hex to his bollocks hurt worse than his head did now, but that was neither here nor there. She would forgive him. She always did. This was just taking a little longer than usual. Shifting again, he opened his eyes. Surprised that the world was sideways, and not right side up. Shouldn’t it be right side up if he was in a hospital? And wait, was that a muggle image box and bookshelves? Quidditch gear… and dragons, gulping suddenly, he had a feeling that maybe he hadn’t been dreaming after all. Risking it all, Ron chanced sitting up, the sudden movement, making his head throb even more than it had before.

“Bloody hell.” He moaned, dropping his head to his hands, “Wus goin on?”

He was sure he heard his sister mutter something, but he was distracted instantly by the sound of his brother’s voice. “You’re up first, Harry.”

Gulping, he attempted to open his eyes again. Groaning as the world swirled, he squeezed them closed again quickly. “Oh for Circe’s sake!” He heard rustling and movement and then heard Hermione saying Harry something along the lines of “we’ll be here all bloody night long otherwise,” And the tell-tale clink of vials together.

“Here, Ron,” said Harry quietly approaching him. “Pain potion and a pepper up potion.” Ron thanked him, taking the unstoppered vials and shooting them back swiftly. It only took a few breaths before he felt himself feeling better already. Merlin he’d never had a potion work so fast, those must’ve been specially brewed by Hermione. Hermione. His eyes snapped up again, and he looked for her face. She was sitting at a table, not that far away. Her eyes were purposely avoiding his. Her wild mane of hair piled on her head, and her bronzed skin was looking as soft and decadent as ever. He recognized everyone at the table but a woman with hair so pale blonde it almost looked silver and the most piercing grey eyes. For a moment, she reminded him of someone, but he scowled tossing the thought away. She was too beautiful, he reasoned, and he always felt like every sexy girl was connected in some way. 

“What’s all this about then?” he asked, taking in the strained expression on Harry’s face and the obviously pissed one of his sister’s. “Where are we?”

“You’re in Romania,” he heard, watching as his older brother Charlie stood from the table and conjured another chair. “Welcome to my home. Would you care to join us at the table?”

Ron took in the faces around the table, and Harry’s again, before nodding. He noticed a few bottles of alcohol on the table and rubbed his hands together gleefully. Now that was more like it. “Is there anything to eat?”

“Bloody hell,” swore George and Ginny reaching into their pockets and tossing bags in Hermione’s direction, the telltale jingle of coins inside ringing out as they landed.

“Thank you.”

“What’s that all about then?” Ron asked, annoyed slightly, as his brother steered him to the empty chair he had conjured and not the one next to the pretty blonde he had vacated when he stood up.

“Hermione bet them that the first thing you’d ask about was food,” Charlie replied calmly as he sat down next to the blonde.

“Some things never change,” she muttered refilling her glass, once again.

“I love you too,” Ron carelessly replied, reaching for the bottle of Ogden’s.

“Excuse me?” Hermione challenged. “Love me? No. You don’t get to say that you love me. You’re never allowed to say you love me again.”

“Merlin ‘Mione; it was just some words. No need to bite my head off.”

“Just some words?!” she demanded watching with some satisfaction as he seemed to wither a bit under the weight of her glare. “Of course,” she replied more quietly, her voice laced with a more dangerous undertone, “from you I believe that ‘I love you’ was just some words. Three little words that are just a means to an end, and certainly not to a person who stood by your side while you humiliated her for years. Really what’s ‘I love you’ mean to your best friend while your balls deep in another woman. Did you tell her that you loved her too? Or did you save that for the blokes you were shagging after quidditch matches?”

Her words caused both Harry and Charlie to sputter as the drinks they had been taking came flying out of their mouths. “Merlin Mi! Some warning next time!” clamored Charlie wiping his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. Phee laughed merrily as she conjured a towel for him out of a napkin she had found on the table.

“So sorry, Charlie,” she replied, waving her hand both towards him, Harry and the table, removing all the liquid from all three, without removing her eyes from Ron who was pulling himself a massive shot of firewhiskey. “Problem?” she queried sweetly as he pulled a face after taking the shot.

“This firewhiskey tastes off,” he stammered eyeing the glass wearily.

“Really?” she asked, sliding the bottle across to Charlie wandlessly. “Care to verify that Charlie.”

Glancing from one to the other, Charlie lifted the bottle to his lips, tilting it to Phee so she could smell it as well. “Smells like firewhiskey to me.” Phee concurred.

“Give that back,” Ron demanded as he took the bottle back and refilled his glass, sniffing it tentatively before taking a sip. “No. It’s off. This doesn’t smell like anything, and it tastes like water.”

Eyebrows went into hairlines, and George began to snicker, “Merlin, you are one helluva witch, Mi.”

“Brightest witch of our age, or so I’ve been told a time or two,” she proudly declared pouring herself another shot of tequila.

“What’s going on?” asked Ron, watching as Ginny took the bottle and poured herself a generous shot, and shivered as the liquor burned its way down her throat. “Definitely Ogden’s finest.”

“It would seem,” Harry supplied, slowly putting the pieces together himself, “that Hermione has somehow jinxed it so you can only drink water.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Hermione. “I don’t have to sit here and take this.”

Hermione’s face was the picture of serenity as she replied sweetly, “Oh, you’ll find that you do.”

Attempting to stand, Ron found that he couldn’t, and as a litany of foul things began to make their way out of his mouth, he suddenly found himself also unable to speak.

“Merlin,” gasped Ginny.

“I guess taking your wand didn’t actually matter,” added Harry, his eyes wide.

“It made you feel better,” Hermione replied nonchalantly.

“Ron was right. You are a scary witch ‘Mione.”

“First, that may be the ONLY thing Ron has ever correctly said about me; second, I absolutely hate that name, and if you call me that again, I will hex you.” Harry gulped and nodded his understanding. “Good. Now, if we can get down to it, I find I have little desire to be in his presence for longer than absolutely necessary.” Everyone around the table nodded.

Hermione turned her attention to Ron. “I am going to allow you to speak; should you decide to continue with those foul lies I will shut you up – permanently. Do you understand?” At Ron’s wide-eyed nod, she continued. “Now we are here because something has come to light, and Harry and I both need to know if it was at your hand.”

As Ron nodded again, he suddenly found himself with the ability to speak again, “Tell me what you want then so I can go back to what I was doing.”

“Well, I hope that wasn’t bothering dear Viktor because you’ll find if you go anywhere near that team or stadium that you will be arrested for harassment.”

“What did you do?”

“I did absolutely nothing, but you,” she added pulling Viktor’s letter out of her pocket, “seem to have worn the patience of the entire team in a very short amount of time.”

“You heinous-“

Hermione sighed as he continued to try and speak. “I thought we covered this.”

“He’s not very bright, love.”

“Where did Mum go wrong with him?”

“Do you think she dropped him on the head when he was a babe?”

“Maybe one of you lot pranked him one too many times as a baby.”

“That might be possible.”

“I mean we did pass down a 12-year-old rat to him.”

“And one that turned out to be a rat-faced fink no less.”

“Good times.”

Phee giggled at the exchange and met Charlie’s eyes. “So, this is your family.”

Charlie blushed slightly, “Missing two.”

“Bill, the eldest-“ began Charlie.

“He’s the sane one in the group.”

“And Percy-“ Charlie stated with a sigh.

“The pompous one.” Noted George.

“Yes, they seem to have deteriorated as they went down.” Added Hermione.

“Hey!” exclaimed Ginny smacking her on the arm.

“Oh, you don’t count Gin. It’s like everything started over when they got a girl.”

Ginny smiled triumphantly, saying she’d take that, before she smacked Harry and pointed to Ron, telling him to get on with it.

Clearing his throat, Harry leaned forward and placed the false letters he and Hermoine had received on the table in front of Ron. Ron’s eyes went wide at the sight of them. “Do you recognize these Ron?”

Ron glanced around, noting the steely look in not just Hermione’s eyes but Ginny’s and George’s. And while Charlie’s face gave away that he was uncomfortable, he noticed the pretty blonde, Phee he thought they had called her, was utterly unreadable. Rolling his eyes, Ron’s body sagged as if he heaved a heavy sigh before he nodded.

Something murderous flashed in Hermione’s eyes. Leaning forward, she removed the spell. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that you did not intercept his owls,” she commanded.

Ron knew he was found out. It had been years. He wasn’t sure at all, how they had finally pieced everything together after all this time. But it didn’t matter. His plan had worked. “I can’t,” he said at last. “I did it for your own good.”

“My own good?”

“You were falling for him! I could tell.” Accused Ron.

Hermione huffed, “It wasn’t your business!“

“I was your best friend, of course, it was my business!”

“Right,” she mocked, “which is exactly why I spoke to you about it.”

Ron bristled at her words. “You didn’t!”

“But I tried!” she countered, remembering her dream from the other night. The thought just as vivid in her mind as the fight itself. “You started flying off the handle. I knew whatever I had to say you wouldn’t care. Your hate so blinded you! Then we had that fight…” her voice trailed off.

The sudden loss of anger in her voice panged him. Clearing his throat, he tried a different softer approach, “I’ll admit, I was mad. I mean blimey ‘Mione, you threw me out of the flat! I went to talk to Harry about it. I knew if anyone could talk reason to you it would be Harry. But then, he off and agreed with you! It was like I was living in some kind of nightmare. My best friend and my girl were both under the spell of that stupid prat. Worse, you’d both been owling him regularly. Talking to him all the time, and neither of you even bothered to clue me in. We had that fight and Merlin ‘Mione. I just snapped, alright?”

“What did you do Ron?” Asked Ginny, seeing Hermione shaking her head, words not coming out of her mouth.

Ron eyed Hermione, taking her rounded shoulders and tormented face as a sign that she still cared for him. He continued wanting her to know that he did it because he cared for. “I found a letter on Harry’s desk from Malfoy. It sounded so… chummy. Like they were pals instead of enemies. He was talking to Harry about his FEELINGS for Hermione. I mean, he used her first name! He didn’t have a right to!”

“What did you do?” Repeated Hermione.

Missing the change in her body language, Ron pressed on, eager to explain it to her to show off the talents he did have, “I copied his handwriting using a spell we learned in training. Wrote all the things I knew he truly felt. I had to Hermione. I had to let you know that he was still that git.”

“Is that all?” Asked Harry a hard edge to his voice.

“I made sure we were there that night. To have her out, distract her, you know,” he casually replied with a shrug of his shoulder.

“How did you keep Malfoy’s letters from me? From Harry?” She whispered.

Ron grinned brightly. “That was the easy bit. We’d learned about wards, and how to place special ones to protect people. I warded the flat and shop against receiving mail from him, and then did the same thing for Grimmauld Place. Then I found out you could make someone unplottable to another individual.”

“What?”

“It’s how we protect witnesses or families with severe trauma. It’s only used in the most extreme cases.” Supplied Harry, his eyes never leaving Ron’s.

“Well, I thought this case was pretty extreme. So, I made Harry and Hermione both unplottable to Malfoy. He could’ve been standing right next to them and not have known they were there,” He said smugly.

“You had no right-“ began Hermione only to be cut off Ginny.

“Wait! You did Harry too? Why?” she demanded

“Because Malfoy and I had become friends,” interjected Harry. “Isn’t that right Ron?”

“Yeah, mate,” confirmed Ron, “I did it for your own good. I mean you have this right awful savior complex sometimes, and you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”

“But you got a letter,” put in Hermione.

“Yeah, but so did Malfoy. From Harry, I mean. Bloody brilliant that was if you ask me. I had everything right there, so I sent Mione and Harry letters from Malfoy and Malfoy a letter from Harry. And with the wards and you two being unplottable for him, you didn’t hear from him, and he didn’t hear from you. Then there was word that he didn’t own the manor anymore, and that he did everyone a favor and moved away or died or something. And life went back to the way it was supposed to be.” In his satisfaction, Ron missed the stiffening of Charlie and Phee’s bodies next to him.

“If we’re unplottable than how can Malfoy see us now?” Hermione asked Harry in confusion.

“Everything expires after five years if they aren’t updated or the case is closed,” Harry informed her, not taking his eyes off of Ron.

“Yeah, I didn't know that bit,” said Ron sheepishly missing the implication of Hermione's words.

“How could you?” whispered Hermione.

“Honestly, ‘Mione, I did it for your own good. “

“You had no right.”

“I know but if you’d just listen-“

“I am done listening to you!” she exclaimed slamming her palms on the table.

Ron flinched, but pressed on, “Mione I can explain-“

"STOP CALLING ME THAT!" she screamed at him.

“Explain? You’ve just done that, and all you’ve managed to do is dig yourself a bigger hole!” Added his sister also standing. “Harry give me back my wand.”

“I thought I hated you before, but this…” Ron reached his hand out to touch her, and she smacked his hand away viciously. “Don’t you dare touch me! You deplorable pile of dragonshit!”

The seconds seemed to stretch into hours as she heard Draco’s words playing in her head. “I waited for you. I wrote to you every day. I was there.” A collective gasp had fallen over the room, and it seemed as if everyone was frozen in place. Around Hermione, magic crackled in the air, rolling off her in waves of anger.

“Mi.” All eyes flew to the door, where Draco had entered silently.

“How much did you hear?” Phee asked him.

“Enough,” he replied. His eyes darted to Harry. “Potter.”

“Malfoy. It’s good to see you.”

Draco nodded, returning his eyes to Hermione, he switched to French. **“Mi. Come with me, Kitten. Leave him to them.”**

**“I could kill him for what he did to me. To us. How can you not want to kill him?”** she replied, also in French, her eyes not moving from Ron.

**“Who says I don’t want to kitten? But I’d rather be with you, and not spend the rest of my life in a cell.”**

**“No one would convict you.”**

Draco snorted, **“Be that as it may, I’d rather not risk it.”** He took a step into the room and waited for her eyes to leave Ronald’s and meet his finally. **"He doesn't want you to be real, and to think and to live. He doesn't love you.”**

She smiled warmly at him, **“Forester.”**

**“Go on, Mi,”** added Phee softly in French from across the table before switching to English. “We’ll take care of him.”

Charlie nodded, and George stood and pressed a kiss into her hair. Ginny hugged her and gave her a soft smile; Hermione paused again to hold her hand in front of Harry. He handed her back her wand and smiled softly at him as she squeezed his shoulder. “Go on love.”

Standing in front of Draco, she smiled softly, as he wrapped his arms around her finishing the rest of the quote he had begun, "Je veux que vous ayez vos propres pensées, idées et sentiments, même lorsque je vous tiens dans mes bras."

With a pop, they were gone, and the room they left behind exploded in chaos.

**(^.=.^)**

######  **Author's Note: French Translations (Powered by Google Translate)**

"Je veux que vous ayez vos propres pensées, idées et sentiments, même lorsque je vous tiens dans mes bras." = "I want you to have your own thoughts, ideas and feelings, even when I hold you in my arms."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first, the two lines that Draco says to Hermione are from E.M. Forester's _Room with a View_ and I wanted to share the entire thing with you because it's one of my favorites (and yes, you'll notice he doesn't say all of it to her... yet)
>
>> "He's the sort who can't know anyone intimately, least of all a woman. He doesn't know what a woman is. He wants you for a possession, something to look at, like a painting or an ivory box. Something to own and to display. He doesn't want you to be real, and to think and to live. He doesn't love you. But I love you. I want you to have your own thoughts and ideas and feelings, even when I hold you in my arms."
> 
> And second, YOU WERE RIGHT!! LOL, Do you guys feel vindicated?? Was it what you were expecting? Drop me a line and let me know, and feel free to suggest punishments for dear old Ronniekins (besides the obvious DRAGON justice lol). I may or may not, have already written something, but I'm not opposed to changing it for you guys!
> 
> In any case, hope you guys enjoyed it! See you next week! xx The Wordsmith


	15. The Eye of the Lair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies!! Happy Wednesday! As promised, here is a 100% Dramione chapter that picks up directly after the last one! I've had it written for some time, but after everyone's reaction to the last chapter, I went back to add more details and open it up to give you more of the Dramione you've been looking for. No lemons for now, but you never know what the future will bring! 
> 
> My usual disclaimers apply: I'm not JKR, I don't own HP (cause Dramione). My Beta is Grammarly, so if you spot any errors let me know! The plot and worldbuilding is all mine though!

###  **The Eye of the Lair**

Hermione felt her feet land firmly on the ground, and she clung to the arms that held her tightly. She felt herself shiver as her nose flared, the familiar scent of bergamot, apples, and parchment filling her nose. It was mingled now with something more than what it used to be, not just the clean scent of his skin, of that which made him, _him_. Now there was something stronger, manlier if there was such a thing, it was rich and earthy with a lingering hint of smoke and the sky before it rained. It was the man the boy had become she thought to herself suddenly, burrowing her nose deeper into the crook of his neck, breathing deeply, a small sigh of contentment slipped through her lips. She felt his breath quicken, and his arms tightened momentarily before he tried to let her go.

"No," she said softly tightening her arms around his waist. She felt the vibrations of his chuckling through her body as he readjusted his hold on her. 

Her response. Her request had brokered no room for argument, and she smiled to herself thinking it was a very un Hermione thing to do, but after discovering the depth of Ron’s deceit and the way Draco had so calmly handled it and talked her off the ledge. It was all too much, and this moment simultaneously felt like not enough. She hadn't been lying when she said no jury in the world would convict him, though now that she stopped to think about it, no jury would CONVICT her - not the brains of the golden trio, and especially not in front of the savior of the Wizarding world - who had also been wrong by their supposed best friend. 

"I smell smoke."

Hermione gasped and looked to the sky - worry immediately peppering her gaze as she searched for the smoke he saw, only to feel and hear him chuckle again. "You, Granger. You're thinking too hard. I can smell smoke."

Hermione smacked him, calling him a Prat as she visibly relaxed in his arms. "I'm sorry Draco," she said softly, inhaling deeply as she snuggled back into the crook of his neck. "It's just. It's been SIX YEARS. He's robbed us of six years, Dray! And I'm so angry with him-" 

"Shhhhh. It's okay, kitten. Just breathe," Draco replied, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. He understood her anger at Weasel. He hadn't been there for the whole conversation, but the part he had heard at the end had set his blood boiling. Then he saw her stand up and scream at that ginger menace and knew he had to intervene. Not that he wanted to protect that asshole in any way. He would've gladly punched him in the face himself, or watch Hermione do it; Merlin did he know she was more than capable of it. But watching her magic roll off her in angry waves had spurred him to action. 

Uncontrolled magic was dangerous, but doubly so on a dragon reserve, where dragons fed on and were called to magic. It wouldn't have been a concern for most magicals, even under the most strenuous of circumstances but Draco knew Hermione was more powerful than most magicals. Visibly seeing her magic rolling off of her was a sure sign of how much stronger she had grown in their time apart, and he wasn’t the only one that had noticed the power radiating off of her. Draco knew the wards would have protected them inside the eye regardless - ensuring no people or buildings inside would've been compromised by any bouts of accidental magic she would’ve thrown off, but it would still set off the dragons and cause them to react in their habitats and to each other - not to mention the two dozen or so dragons in the nursery and hatchery at the moment. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. So he stepped in, unsure of what to do or say, only knowing he needed to take her away from that Fucknugget as quickly as possible. 

And now she was in his arms again for the first time in six years, and it was everything he hoped it would be and nothing he felt like he deserved. 

Their bodies had changed over the last few years, and yet she still snuggled into him and fit herself to him just as she did in the past. Like she was made for him. He'd be lying if he didn't admit that she felt delicious pressed against him and that he was struggling to maintain his composure at the moment. She was softer than he remembered, and yet he knew without question, she was also stronger. He knew his body was more robust and more substantial - having filled out from all the physical work on the range. He wondered if perhaps that’s why she was snuggling into him and clinging to him so desperately now. The brief moment of vanity making him feel 18 again before the other side of his brain reengaged. It wasn’t the time to consider going down that path, not that there wasn’t a massive part of him that wanted to hold her this way forever. That part of him wanted to tip her head back to see if their lips fit together the same, if her lips were still as soft and supple. To explore her mouth and see if she tasted the same. The image of her eyes half-lidded, lips swollen and cheeks flushed came unbidden, and the desire to know if she still made those mewling noises stirred something deep inside of him that he thought died long ago.

Sadly, there was another part of him that he drew on more than any other - the part that forced him to compartmentalize to protect himself, and it was that part of him that was telling him to let go and step back. That part that was still hurt and angry and dare he say, afraid of what another heartbreak caused by the pretty witch in his arms would do to him. His logical self tried to remind him that it hadn't been her fault, that they knew the truth now, but… clearing his throat, he took a step back, reluctantly letting her go. He was vaguely aware of a small sound escaping her mouth before she bit her bottom lip, trying to hide her body’s reaction to the loss of warmth and comfort from his body. 

Glancing up, she was keenly aware that Draco was working on steadying his breath just as she was. It was too soon she knew, to be feeling all of these things, to be wanting him all over again, but Merlin, being in his arms still made her feel things she hadn’t felt in years. He felt so strong and solid within his arms, and she had felt comfort seeping into her bones from the warmth of his body. For years she ached for his touch. There had been so many nights that she longed to feel the whisper of his hand upon her cheek, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered in her ear. There were days when she wished for nothing but his calming presence on her hardest of days. Those were the days when she felt his betrayal most acutely. Those were the days, she took out that final letter he had written her and read what she thought his true feelings about her were and cried from a broken heart all over again — reminding herself that to him she was no one and nothing in attempt to stitch her broken heart back together again and make everything make sense once again. 

But then she was in his arms again, and it felt like heaven on earth and Medea, Circe and Morgana did she never want to be without it again. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she opened her eyes and hesitantly took a step back, casting her eyes around. 

Now was not the time.

It had been six years. Six. Long. Fucking. Years. 

She couldn't expect that either of them would be able to step right back into where they were before Ronald, the blithering wazzock, had interfered even if her body wanted to. “Wh-where are we?”

 _“Ochiul bârnei_ – the eye of the lair. The center of the sanctuary,” he clarified, his hand rubbing the back of his neck absently. “Sorry, it was the first place that popped into my head.”

Hermione smiled softly, telling him it was okay, as she continued to look around. She recognized the fountain they were standing near. Charlie had shown it to her briefly on their initial tour after she had placed her handprint on the wall in an adjoining room. It was tradition he told her for everyone to choose a color and put their handprint into the wall where it was absorbed and became part of the mystical dragons fire when it breathed out. Every person who had ever stepped foot on the range to work did it — layering their magic, hopes, dreams, fear, and excitement, literally into the walls of the reserve. Strengthening the wards, the magic that bonded them and connecting them to each other, and the creatures they fought to serve and protect. 

It was one of the most beautiful sentiments Hermione had ever heard of, and she felt honored to be included in that history. 

There hadn't been time to explore the eye of the lair that day. Hermione had been all consumed in the work she was doing during her internship that she never thought to return. Staring at the fountain now she immediately regretted that decision. 

"It's called _'O lume perfectă'_ in Romanian. A Perfect World," Draco told her softly watching her gaze as she took in the large fountain. 

The basin was massive, over 10 feet around, carved of granite native to the hills of Romania where the sanctuary was located. Artisans from a nearby village had been commissioned to cut it. Tiles had been inlaid to represent the embroidered designs Romania was known for. The black rock decorated with beautiful flowers and leaves and geometric patterns; perfectly balanced against the British, Romanian and French flags that were carved along the outside of the basin. "One flag each to represent, the heritage of the people that created the sanctuary itself," she mused, missing Draco's smirk that she knew that détail. 

Large plumes of water danced out from the center, three separate jets of liquid shooting, 3 feet, 6 feet, 9 feet straight up, the water itself tumbling down like a fine mist, catching the light just so to reflect beautiful beams of lights. Creating Rainbows, she thought suddenly, shifting her body to see the fountain from a different perspective. Weaving in and out of the water, in lazy circles, were miniature versions of all the dragon breeds in the range. 

Draco smiled as a Ukrainian Ironbelly soared to the top. "Each dragon is in perfect scale to the fountain and each other," he explained to her, pointing to where the very large Ironbelly was now drifting lazily by the much, much smaller Peruvian Viper tooth. 

Occasionally one of the dragons would open their mouth and fire would blaze forth, mingling with the water without going out. Their flames were dancing in blues, reds, oranges and bright white, adding to the colorful effect of the rainbows. As each dragon reached the top of the fountain, it would glide lazily back to the bottom, dipping its wings or talons or snout into the water gathered at the bottom of the basin before slowly making its way back up again, spinning up and back in perfect clockwise and counter-clockwise circles. Watching those miniature dragons was oddly satisfying. 

Breathing deeply, she found herself surrounded once again by the smell of parchment and apples, a hint of sandalwood and smoke, and something else. The combination of fire, water, sound, smell, and light dancing together, soothed her in a way she was unfamiliar with. Hermione was so relaxed that she was half tempted to conjure a chair and sit down next to the fountain for the next several hours. 

“The water is laced with a specialized variation of the draught of peace,” he told her, stepping near the fountain. “It’s designed to bring everyone who enters the space peace and comfort.”

“By reminding them of the things they love.”

Draco nodded, watching her blush deepen out of the corner of his eyes.

“What do you smell?” Draco asked her, watching as she took another deep breath.

Blushing deeply, she responded, knowing that he would recognize the smells she was speaking of and that they were not the same ones that she had mentioned in the class all those years ago. "old parchment… green apples… pennyroyals" her words trailed off as she took another deep breath, recognizing the distinctive mint plant that Draco had once shown her to use to adjust the taste of one of the fouler potions they were making for Slughorn during their 8th year.

"And?" 

"And?" she wrinkled her nose at him, of course, he knew she was holding back. "I smell burnt wood, like from fire pit; cedar maybe? But it's… It's that lingering smell after it's been extinguished by summer rain."

She tried to keep her breathing regular as he smiled softly, a look of genuine contentment on his face, as he nodded his head. The look surprised her somewhat. The Draco she had known years before didn’t have this confidence or serenity to him. She was sure that a great deal of it came from this place, from the life he lived here on the Sanctuary now, but a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it.

He took a deep breath. “Everyone smells some form of water and mint. I smell flooding rains rushing through falling leaves and damp earth.”

“You smell flooding rains?” she teased, eyeing him carefully.

He smiled brightly, “Have you ever been caught in a thunderstorm in a forest in the middle of September?” She shook her head. “Don’t knock it until you do.” she giggled. 

“What else do you smell? What kind of mint do you smell? ”

“I smell water mint. "

"Which is usually found near streams or in damp forests. "

"10 points for Gryffindor. Makes the flooding rain make more sense now doesn't it? "he teased back with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Hermione rolled her eyes at him with a tiny laugh and signaled for him to continue with a wave of her hand. Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, "I smell parchment too, the kind that you smell when you open a new leather journal, fresh and clean, like the morning after it rains; and lavender… vanilla… Shea butter and a hint of ylang-ylang.”

“That’s specific.”

“Amorentia always is…” he allowed the words to trail off as he met her eyes. He watched her closely as she mulled over his words and smiled with satisfaction when he saw the light bulb go off over what the "specialized" part of the draught was. 

“Has yours changed?” she wondered nervously, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. 

He nodded once. “But I expected it, once I noted the honey in your hair.”

She felt her cheeks pink further still, as she subconsciously touched her hair, tucking the same wayward curl behind her ear again. “New shampoo.”

“I like it.” he mused softly. Hermione felt her breath catch yet again, as he toyed absently with the same unruly curl that just seemed to have a mind of its today. Draco gave it a little tug, smiling to himself when it bounced back before tucking it once again behind her ear. Her lashes fluttered unconsciously as he brushed the shell of her ear, with his fingertips; Merlin when did she become such a fool-hearted chit, she wondered, feeling her body unconsciously begin to lean towards him. Steadying her breath, she asked what else was in the liar.

Sensing her discomfort in the way she suddenly pulled away from, Draco cleared his throat, again, and glanced around. “There are the memorials,” he replied his hands indicating two separate walls – one with the depiction of a castle and one a representation of the stars. 

"Memorials for whom?" she asked, looking from one to the other before moving to stand in front of the painting of the stars. 

"This one is for the dragons," Draco replied softly placing his hand upon the wall. Hermione gave a little gasp as the wall shimmered with magic, the stars realigning to form the constellation Draco was named after. Hermione's fingers grazed across a few of the stars as she softly named them "Etamin, Rastaban, Thuban." 

Draco smirked. Of course, she would know the names of several of the stars within Draconis. Not realizing he had said the words aloud, he was surprised when she answered him with a soft smile. "Of course, I remember the astronomy lesson you gave me." His ears tinged pink at her words, though he was gratified to see that her confession left her blushing as well. 

Shifting their attention, Draco pointed at the wall, and Hermione noticed that several of the stars began to twinkle and move. Revealing names. "Lucinda, Michel, Lupa, Santiago, Brenda, Howie, Captain, Zanipolo, Duckie…" Hermione's eyes turned to Draco's "What are these?" 

"the names of all the Dragons we've lost."

Hermione's eyes widened as she returned her attention to the wall, seeing hundreds of little twinkling lights within the constellation. Noting a small banner above the constellation, she read softly. _"Through the heart, we share each other's pains and power." *_

Draco tapped on one of the names she had read aloud and watched as the star transformed to reveal the image of the dragon it was named for. Hermione smiled, tapping a few of the stars and watching the dragons they represented spring to life. Several roared at her and moved about the sky. One sniffed her and then crossed towards Draco, roaring softly until he reached a hand out to stroke the top of the dragons head. "Hey, boy," Draco said softly. 

"Zanipolo," she read softly moving closer to the wall to read the information that floated behind the dragon Draco was 'petting' "aka Polo, Antipodean Opaleye, arrived summer 1985, died Spring 2002 due to injuries sustained saving Dragonologist Draco Malfoy Black from attack." Hermione's eyes widened as the words sunk in. "Draco?" 

Draco cleared his throat. "A story for another day I think Mi." he gave a soft small to the dragon and shooed it away before holding his hand to the wall again, resetting the constellation. 

"That's some powerful spell work," Hermione mused taking the wall in. 

"The Durrells consider all dragon life sacred. They wanted a way to remember each dragon. Avia says it was her mother-in-law that created the original spells. Each Head Dragonologist learns the spell for their breed as part of their work. It's our responsibility to ensure they are remembered and honored. Even the ornery ones," he added with a tight laugh. 

"And that one? "Hermione asked, pointing to the mural on the opposite wall sensing his desire not to discuss the information she had just discovered about Polo. She watched him turn his body away from the constellation, and she wondered if he was trying to pull himself together or protect her or both. In either case, Hermione filed away the information to discuss with him later. She knew he was a dragonologist like Charlie and that meant they faced danger pretty routinely but seeing those words clutched at something within her heart, and though he was standing next to her very much alive, Hermione felt worried and sadness sweep through her at the very idea of losing him. 

_"Sometimes the dragon wins, and that's why there's such a shortage of white knights," **_ Draco replied softly. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, and he inclined his head towards the castle before walking towards it. 

The mural of the castle was spectacular. It appeared to be set upon a cliff with a vast mountain scape set behind it, giving it the appearance of being far away and looming in the distance - as if you could walk right up to the pathway to it the closer you got. As they approached, the wall clouds partially hid the late afternoon sun, and Hermione smiled that even in this mural, a dragon could be seen weaving in and out of the shadows around the castle. 

“Is that NeuschwansteinCastle?” Hermione asked softly, eyeing the castle critically.

“Good eye,” replied Draco, just as softly. “The colors are different, and there are a few more spires I think, but the original artist, Abraham, was from a wizarding village not far from there. The village itself was destroyed during the Second World War. He and his family arrived here not long after the Durrells opened the RDS in the 60s. His son was one of the first Dragonologists. When the Durrells heard that they had lost everything during the war, they invited the entire family to stay. This was Abraham’s way to say thank you for their kindness.”

“It’s incredible.”

“He and his wife worked as a team to create the moving portraits.”

Hermione turned to him suddenly, “Moving portraits?”

“Well, why else would there be a memorial if there were no portraits?” asked Draco a teasing lilt to his voice.

Turning her attention back to the canvas, Hermione looked for signs of life. She had already seen the clouds moving, and the dragon flying by, but wizarding photographs moved in the same way. 

Hermoine hadn’t considered that this was a portrait. Gazing at the castle more closely she noticed that the weather seemed to be the same as it was outside presently.

“It’s like the outer wall,” confirmed Draco when she asked him about. “It’s spelled to match the weather and the seasons.”

“That’s incredible.”

“You should see it when it snows,” he added with a hum of approval.

“Really?” 

Draco nodded. “The residents like to come out and play in the snow. They have many snowball fights, and they even put up a tree for yule, and the dragons come out to give them their own fireworks display on New Year’s Eve.” 

Hermione gaped at Draco, her eyes narrowing as she tried to decide if he was telling her the truth or not. Hermione licked her lips, the anticipation and questions burning on the tip of her tongue. Catching Draco’s eyes, she felt them all dissolve. He had a nervous energy about him suddenly. It was something she remembered from 8th year. She watched him closely, noting the way his jaw shifted every so slightly as he chewed on his cheek. His mask of indifference was firmly back in place, and yet he was rocking slightly on his feet. His weight was shifting from heel to toe and back again. It was something he only did when he was nervous.

Swallowing hard, trying not to think what reason he had to be nervous, Hermione asked how many residents lived in the castle.

“112”

“That many?” she asked, his answer catching her off guard.

“It is a dragon reserve Granger. It’s not always the safest place to work - no matter what your occupation.”

Something in his response teased at her brain. She opened her mouth to say something only to stop as he continued. “We only average two fatalities in the line of duty a year, which considering our line of work is an achievement.”

“It is,” nodded Hermione solemnly. “But Draco that’s more than two a year,” she added quickly thinking of the large number.

“There was a mass casualty after the end of the First Wizarding War. You know about Voldermort’s recruiting techniques?” Hermione nodded. “He tried to bend several breeds of dragons to his will. Much like what the Goblins did the Gringott’s one.” He paused as she shuddered visibly. “After his downfall, the reserve tried to help them. But for some, the damage was too great - either physically or psychologically. Their rehab turned badly. We lost 18 that day. And several dozen dragons. Those that didn’t die from the ordeal had to be euthanized for the safety of all. It was a dark day here, or so I was told.”

“That’s terrible!”

“It’s still the single worst fatality year the RDS ever had. The most other than that was three a year here and there.”

Something in his body language gave her pause, and she couldn’t help the next question that left her mouth, “Have you lost anyone since you've been here?" 

Draco kept his eyes on the mural but gave a quick nod of his head. Hermione felt her heartbreak and moved to hug him pausing suddenly unsure if that was an appropriate response or not. She finally placed her hand upon his arm, giving his bicep a small squeeze and apologizing. 

Draco met her eyes and said thanks. “I’m not ready to talk about him yet, Mi, but I promise someday.” IT was more than Hermione expected, and she nodded. Then he spun away from her and the wall, his self-preservation in full effect for her to see. Pointing to another area Hermione didn't notice before, Draco spoke again, “There is the path to the Durrell Manor; and that way, of course, the Library.”

“There’s a library?”

Draco chuckled softly at her excitement. “You mean it wasn’t the first place Charlie took you when you got here?” She shook her head emphatically, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Come on then,” he smirked. “Let’s go see your happy place.”

She bounced on the balls of her feet gleefully, barely containing her excitement before hurrying after him — his chuckle echoing around her and buoying her along. His sadness at the wall and her questions momentarily forgotten both of them swept away by the call of parchment and knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the world-building! I got the idea about the murals quite early on when this idea came to me and my offline bestie/Editor reminded me with magic anything is possible. She gave me the ideas for the quotes that are displayed on each mural - the Dragon one is from the movie Dragonheart and is spoken by Draco the Dragon! (If I remember correctly). I tried to find the source of the second quote which she also gave me, but all I could find were ads for it on t-shirts. ha! 
> 
> Also, the name of the Dragon Draco talks to happens to be the name of a dog I once had. I couldn't resist paying a tribute to him. Feel free to shout out some names for Dragons you'd like to see in future chapters as well. 
> 
> I'm currently living in Germany for the next few months, and Neuschwanstein Castle is on my bucket list to see before we go. I mean it's the castle that inspired Disney to create Cinderella's castle! So I had to use it for the Castle. We will get to meet some of the residents later, but as Draco, it was just too soon in the story for that moment. 
> 
> So what did you think? Did you like getting to see them together? Any ideas what could happen in the library? As always your comments and kudos mean the world to me. I love that you guys love this story as much as I do! See you next week! xx The Wordsmith


	16. All in a Day's Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hello, lovelies! Happy Wednesday! Sorry for the delay in posting today, it's been a day of technological glitches (*shakes fist at google drive) and injured children (they're all fine and alive, but I swear they are all getting helmets and mouth guards!)_
> 
>  
> 
> _This is a chapter I've had written for quite some time but as I've been working with a beta on L &Q, I'm finding my writing style improving across all stories and details I didn't know I needed suddenly becoming very necessary. There was quite the debate in my house this weekend on whether I really needed to know what compound made fire glow what color and what temperature resulted in what color fire. (The answer obviously was YES to both points and my dragon spreadsheet now carries on to two pages LOL) _
> 
> _Usual disclaimers apply: I'm not JKR. I don't own HP. I'm just playing in her world and enjoying expanding it dramatically. My beta for this story is Grammarly (HA!) so if you spot any errors let me know. My wonderful Beta for L &Q has been beating tenses into my head, so hopefully, I've caught most of the errors I usually make before posting. But if you see anything just let me know._
> 
> _xx The Wordsmith_

###  **All in a Day's Work**

Draco settled into his favorite bay window looking out over one of the many mountain ranges surrounding the sanctuary, a piece of clay in his hands. His hands moved on their violation as he watched Hermione absently, content to let Hermione her around the Library alone. They both needed the distraction, he decided. She was in her happy place, surrounded by books and parchments and mysteries of knowledge yet to be discovered. Draco sat with the sun on his back, a piece of his heart wandering around him and a dragon taking shape within his hands. Well, he was sure it was partly _his_ magic that brought the random pieces of clay to life. Another part of himself slowly peeled back from beneath the Pureblood aristocratic veneer to reveal more of the man beneath thanks to Luca. Draco sighed heavily as he looked down at the shape-forming in his hand. 

Today felt like the longest emotional roller-coaster of his life, and he was desperate for just a moment to catch his breath. 

He started by introducing Hermione to the Head Librarian, Madam Avery, who upon seeing Hermione’s awed face, had smiled and told her to have fun exploring. “Come find me if you can’t find something that you’re looking for Miss Granger,” the older woman informed her politely. Hermione’s smile was spectacular as she thanked her. Draco echoed the librarian's sentiments shoving Hermione off with a knowing smile to explore the vast library before camping out to catch his breath. This was her happy place, and Draco was surprised that Charlie hadn’t thought to bring her there sooner. _Probably afraid he’d never see her again,_ thought Draco with a laugh.

When he was sure she was off to explore, Draco moved to his favorite spot in the library. He thought to read a book from his ‘to be read’ list for quite some time, but as he steadied his breath, he found the desire to read fade away. He turned his attention to the sky outside, focusing on his breath, in through the nose for five counts, hold for four counts, release for six counts, and repeat. It was what he needed; he decided as he continued to stare outside the window. To remember to breathe amid all the madness and _feelings._

His emotions were warring within him. On the one hand, Draco felt a desperate need to take Hermione somewhere and make love to her. Repeatedly, and for days on end. On the other hand, he felt the deep need to guard his heart – just in case it was all a lie. _Another lie,_ he thought, correcting himself. _Fucking Weasley. I should’ve let her deck him, or fucking hexed himself._ Draco wondered if it was bad that he sincerely hoped that Phee or Charlie had hexed his balls off after they left. It was the least he deserved.

Draco didn't even notice when the clay appeared in his hand. He worked it as he always did, allowing his magic and his mood to guide him. He wasn't surprised when he noticed large eyes looking up at him, or a face that was the epitome of “Please, Sir, may I have some more?” stared back at him. Draco would’ve scoffed if it wasn’t so perfect. His hands moved of their own accord. Now and then he would catch sight of Hermione’s back just before she disappeared around a corner. Looking down, he was surprised to see the clay in his hand change from bright white to red and gold. Rolling his eyes, Draco muttered about “Fucking Gryffindors,” and continued to allow his magic to work to shape the clay in his hands into the figure it wanted to be.

Meanwhile, Hermione spent a great deal of time wandering around the library, “ohh-ing,” “ahh-ing,” and collectively sighing at the massive collection. Outwardly, it appeared smaller than the library at Hogwarts, but she found herself wondering if it was much, much larger, vaguely recalling that Draco informed her that there were several floors inside the space.

Hermione reached for another book, watching as the words shimmered and then shifted into English across the cover. She recalled the peculiar enchantments that Madam Avery stated were on each text. “Every book will translate into the native language of the reader,” the Librarian declared with smugness, “But if you require a book in its the native language for research purposes, please let me know and I’ll be happy to adjust it for you.” Immediately, Hermione thought of all the potential uses of such a spell, but Draco distracted her as he informed her about the large muggle section. 

“There are collections from all over the world,” he added, moving her with ease away from the librarian, “in both fiction and non-fiction. The Durrells value knowledge in all its forms and they value training and teachings from all areas of the world.”

Hermione nodded, “I noticed that they embraced muggle technology, science, and medical procedures in ways I’ve never seen anywhere else in the Magical world. It’s quite refreshing.”

Draco nodded. “That’s the Durrells for you.”

After what felt like minutes, though perhaps maybe it was hours later, Hermione couldn’t be entirely sure; she stumbled upon the section labeled “Dragons.” Laughing at the irony of finding herself in that section of all the options available, she set about exploring it more in-depth. The section was quite large, broken down by not only breeds and philosophies, but separated by fiction, non-fiction, and even source. It didn’t matter if it was a magical or muggle book that mentioned dragons, even a children’s picture book was fair game it seemed. It made her smile, and she found herself immersed in book after book, as she pulled some at random, and sunk to the floor to read.

She had no idea how much time had passed when she heard a large pop, echo through the stacks, suddenly beside her was a young house-elf, “Missy must come with Georgina right away, please. We have emergency.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Hermione, scrambling to her feet, just as another elf appeared beside Georgina; Hermione recognized her as the elf she had met in the hatchery several days before, “Missy, Master Draco wanted Apollonia to tell you he was called away urgently.”

“Thank you, Apollonia.” Apollonia smiled at her and vanished with another pop. Hermione turned to Georgina and asked if she knew the fastest way to get her to the medical bay. “I take you, Missy.” Georgina held her hand out to Hermione and with another pop they were gone, arriving in the medical bay, amidst a flurry of activity. Thanking the elf, Hermione hurried to find Healer Simmons.

“Oh, good you’re here!” she exclaimed spotting Hermione approaching. “Are you sober?”

“Mostly,” replied Hermione, unsure of how long it had been since she was kicking back shots in anticipation of her confrontation with Ron. Carefully shrugging into her healer robes, Hermione informed her boss that she’d be happy to take a potion “just in case.”

“Here,” said her friend Willow approaching her, sobering potion and pepper-up potion in her hands. “Phee said you might need this.”

Hermione thanked the pretty red-head, making a mental note to ask how she came to that knowledge from Phee for later. “Do we know how bad yet?” Hermione asked, taking both potions in a single go before vanishing the vials.

Phoebe Popescu Durrell, head of Healing and Potions and R&D, approached the group of healers that had been growing by the minute. “We’re unsure at the moment, but first counts are that two of the Ridgebacks were fighting and got into a piece of Horntail territory. There’s also word a Longhorn was spotted pushing back into another male territory when several handlers had been out scouting nesting female within range.”

“It’s going to be a big one.” Confirmed Healer Simmons. “Hermione, you’re with Willow for this one.” Hermione nodded as Healer Simmons rattled off other partners before following Willow to one of the bays to prepare potions, bandages, salves, and other things in case of any incoming traumas.

The Medical Bay at the RDS worked similarly to most hospitals. Several healer elves, medi witches and healers examined patients as they came in, sending them to different units for treatments depending on the breed of dragon they encountered, as well as the injuries they may have sustained. Hermione recalled asking about the system when she first arrived as an intern. Hermione was used to St. Mungo’s where patients were divided by injury, and by the injuries priority. So in her mind, the medical bay would be divided by units such as a burn unit or a venomous injury section.

Healer Simmons explained, “It’s faster for healing and patient treatment if we are specialized by breed instead of injury. Most attacks occurred only within a single breed. It’s easier to have one or two healers working on a patient or a victim, say, of Ridgebacks than trying to send the patient to multiple places to set bones, cure venomous bites, or burns.” 

The explanation was unexpected and refreshing to Hermione’s eager mind, and she wasn’t surprised when Willow reminded her of this system as they made their way to the assigned bay for the day.

“Different dragons impart different injuries. We’re here for Longhorns today. Not as aggressive as some of the other breeds, on paper. However, they have a particularly nasty venom laced into their claws that can infect quickly if not treated properly.” 

One of the beauties of the RDS was it’s in-house potions labs which contained a unique pharmaceutical side specific for Dragon ailments and emergencies such as this. The R&D team had learned long ago to create greater stabilization within each potion, compound and salve by leaving it in it’s rawest form. This not only resulted in extended shelf life for each item but resulted in less waste of ingredients. When the bay was in use, or there was an emergency, a specially designated potions cabinet would fill with the raw potions, compounds, and salves. Alongside these basics were a wide variety of additional ingredients, cauldrons, mortar, and pestles, etc. that allowed the Healers to customize the medicines to what they would need for the day. A Healer Elf, trained specially by breed with an emphasis in potions, was also on hand to continue to brew and collect ingredients should the Healers need to focus more on patients than brewing.

Willow directed Hermione to the closet to gather the different ingredients to aid in healing. They would need ingredients to increase the potency of the salves, cooling charms for the bandages and counteract the venom of Longhorns. 

Taking the quiet to continue Hermoine’s training, Willow began, “Right, so what do you remember about the basic burn salve we use here?” 

“It’s a combination of honey, aloe vera and shea butter at its base. There are a few trainers that are allergic to aloe, so the base for their burn cream is shea butter, jojoba and calendula root.”

“Good, and how do we know if they are allergic to aloe vera or anything else?”

“Anyone allergic has a magical bracelet upon their wrist that activates upon entering the wards of the Medical bay. The bracelet glows bright pink for aloe allergies, and it flashes if you apply something to the skin that has a known allergen in it.”

“Very good. The primary compound in Longhorn fire is radium. What compound do we add to neutralize it?”

“We add moon water with hydrochloride and ground lace wigs, mix counterclockwise four times and then add rosemary, calendula, 13 drops of tea tree oil, and 4 drams of dittany.”

“Great. You start on that while I work on the antidote to the Longhorn venom. Do you remember which moon water we use and why?”

“Longhorn venom needs full moon water made with filtered pond mud from the bottom of a waterfall. The extra oxygen from the waterfall aids absorption of the venom from the bloodstream, while the particles from the mud aid with healing the affected area.”

“And why full moon water instead of new moon water?”

“Full moon water is the water of release versus new moon water, which is the water of intention. Full moon water aids the body in releasing the toxins rather than allowing it to spread.”

“Nicely done. I also like to add one drop of dittany and one drop of phoenix tears into that potion before administering to bolster the effects of all the ingredients and aid in the healing of particularly bad scratches.”

Hermione nodded, quickly making a note of the information Willow told her to save for a later day. “At St. Mungo’s I made flavor-enhancing tinctures for some of the fouler-tasting potions, so that makes sense to me.”

Willow eyed her for a moment. “You should present that to the labs if you haven’t already.”

“I wasn’t sure it was a big enough deal for that.”

“Breakthroughs are breakthroughs - no matter how big, or small,” Willow told her confidently. “We believe in sharing information here. If your tincture makes it easier to get down something nasty like skele-gro or the antidote to Vipertooth Venom than it will be appreciated.”

Hermione nodded, appreciating the support, “That’s not how things work at St. Mungo’s. Information is held like a closely guarded secret and shared only when necessary – for the greater good.”

“Well, that’s just stupid.” Replied Willow with a scowl, making Hermione snort with laughter. “I couldn’t agree more, Willow,” she added hastily, mentally adding it to her list of things to do afterward. 

As they adapted and mixed their salves and potions to optimal levels for Longhorn treatments, Willow refreshed Hermione on the different key spells they would need and explained how they would be working – sometimes side by side and sometimes in tandem on the same patient depending on the injury. Georgina arrived again, bringing with her another Elf named Nonna, who specialized in Longhorns. Nonna wore bright green scrubs, embroidered in gold with the profile of a longhorn on her chest. Without being asked, Nonna, made her way around the room, updating, restocking, and organizing everything the two healers would need while they finished up the handful of medicines on their workbench.

Willow and the small elf, with bright pink hair, chatted easily as they worked. Occasionally, drawing Hermione into their conversations, but giving her the space to focus on the task at hand. Hermione also used the time to study the other healer. Willow continued to impress her. The additional healer’s knowledge and work ethic rivaled the best Healers Hermione worked with at St. Mungo’s. Though she was physically shorter and her hair a bit deeper, the fiery redheaded never failed to remind Hermione of Ginny. Willow was a second-generation reserve dweller, having grown up within the walls of the RDS, and had known from a very young age that she wanted to be a Healer. Her father had been lost in a dragon accident many years prior, and her mother taught house-elves within the Reserve, which Hermione attributed to the ease Willow seemed to have with Nonna. 

Naturally, Hermione was desperate to meet her mother once she learned of her relationship with house-elves, but the feisty redhead told her firmly, “You do NOT want to meet my mother - trust me. She has plenty of patience for House Elves, and none at all for people. It’s a miracle she managed to marry my father and have children of her own.” Hermione laughed, thinking at some point, Ron probably would’ve described her in a very similar fashion – especially during her S.P.E.W. phase at Hogwarts. 

Their time passed quickly, and Hermione learned that it was very much like the ER at St. Mungo’s – “feast or famine” Willow called it during a break after healing one of the larger runs when four trainers had come in simultaneously. Hermione had chuckled as she had moved to reset the room and add more herbs to one of the burn salves.

The door to the room opened with a bang, and Hermione caught sight of a familiar head of pale blonde hair rushing in, “Willow!”

“Oh, Phee! Thank the Gods.” Willow rushed to her friend and gave her a tight hug. “Are you ok?”

“Yes. Yes. Just bumps and bruises from a Horntail.”

“And the boys? Jer and DB?”

Hermione noticed the way that Phee’s face changed briefly before her mask slipped back into place. She marveled at how much like Draco that move was, noting that Phee’s tone changed softly as well, “That’s why I’m here.” Willow suddenly gasped and grabbed both of Phee’s arms. “No. No. No. It’s ok. They’re alive. DB is still out there, but Jer just came in.”

“Phee-“

“Willow, it’s not like last time. DB and Charlie got to him; he’s gonna have some new scars is all.”

“I want to see him,” demanded Willow suddenly.

Phee, let out a breath as she confessed, “He’s in surgery with Simmons.”

“Surgery! Ophelia Maria Durrell, you take me to my husband right this second!”

“Willow.”All the heads in the room turned to the door, as Charlie stepped in. 

“Charles Secondus Weasley. WHAT IS GOING ON?” Hermione flinched. Never in all her years of knowing the second oldest Weasley had she known anyone to use his full name in that tone – not even his mother. 

“Willow. Breathe,” said Charlie crossing to her, his hands in front of him, his eyes locked on to hers firmly; his demeanor that of a well-trained handler approaching a scared, skittish animal. His voice was soothing and calm as he spoke, “He caught a tail, got knocked off his broom, but DB grabbed him. They caught a little spray on the way down. Simmons wanted to be cautious because of his history. She put him under to be safe. I need you to think like a doctor and not a wife for a second. Do you understand?”

Willow nodded slowly.

“Why don’t we go get some tea and then we can wait together?” offered Phee, her arms slipping around her friend.

“No. I can’t leave her. I have to stay here.” Scoffed Willow stubbornly, her hand indicating Hermione in a dismissive manner that instantly made her think of Pansy Parkinson. Hermione shuddered at that mental image.

“Willow,” she interjected, “You should go. Really. It’s ok.”

“And what if we get another wave?” countered Willow with a glare.

“I’ll be fine,” assured Hermione, forcing herself not to roll her eyes at the other woman. Merlin, they were the same age and had the same experience for goodness sake.

“But you’ve never – she’s - she’s never run a shift by herself here.” Whinged Willow to Phee.

“I used to run the whole Trauma department at St Mungo’s. I can handle this.” countered Hermione, her hands moving to her hips in defiance.

“And she can call one of the Elves if she needs extra hands.” Interjected Phee, knowing from both Charlie and Draco that Hermione was more than capable of handling anything that happened.

“Nonna is standing by,” confirmed Hermione pointing to the elf busy in the corner. 

“No. No. I can’t. I’m responsible for her. What if someone comes up and she can’t handle it!”

“Do you have any idea who she is?” scoffed Charlie. “She’s Hermione Granger. Brightest Witch of her Age.”

“In England,” sneered Willow.

“Right. That’s it,” stated Hermione coming to stand in front of Willow. “Willow. You are going to get tea, and then you are going to go wait for your husband to come out of surgery.” She held up her hand to silence Willow as she tried to refuse. “Stop. You won’t be able to focus on anyone that comes in. As a Healer, I am telling you that you are compromised. Now stop arguing and go.”

Willow blinked several times before nodding. “But if anything happens Hermione, so help me-”

“Understood.” Replied Hermione cutting her off. Glancing over her head towards Phee, she gave the nod to the other woman. Phee, in turn, gave her a grateful smile before turning her attention back towards Willow and out towards the waiting area.

Charlie gave her a broad smile, and a quick kiss to the head, “Thank you, love.”

“Are you okay?” asked Hermione quickly, stepping back to arm’s length to glance over her friend.

“I’m fine. DB took the brunt of it when we grabbed Jer, and I was able to get him in and go back for a couple of others. No dragon fighting for me today. I was more like a search and rescue.”

Hermione nodded. 

“Are YOU okay?” asked Charlie taking a moment to take her in. Her healer robes were wrinkled, and a few curls had managed to escape the bun she had haphazardly made before they had begun to brew; otherwise, though she looked intact, and not at all flustered. Not like a woman who learned only hours beforehand that her ex sabotaged her life and relationship out of spite.

“I’d almost forgotten that only hours ago, we were sitting around your dining room table interrogating that fucknugget,” replied Hermione with a grimace. “So much has transpired since I woke up this morning that it doesn’t even feel like the same blasted day.” Charlie nodded. The day had not gone at all to plan, and he secretly wondered what he would find when he got home – having left both his brothers, Harry and Ginny, who was still wandless thanks to her husband, at his dining room table when the emergency alarms sounded.

A booming “Charlie!!” from outside the room abruptly ended their conversation. Charlie cringed muttering about being bound to loud redheads, as she laughed, telling him she was fine as she shoved him towards the door. Charlie gave her another quick hug and kiss to the forehead, “I’m so proud of you today, love. I’ll bring you some tea in a bit, yeah?”

“Tea would be lovely Charlie. Thank you,” replied Hermoine, secretly thinking she may need a pepper-up potion before then if they were due to get another wave in.

Shaking her head, Hermione pulled two of the salves containers towards her. She wanted to experiment with a few added herbs to the burn salve to see if it could cool as it healed, before moving on to add her tincture to the pain potions – to flavor them subtlety and help with the nauseousness they often brought on.

Hermione’s mind drifted to the events of the day. Of facing and questioning Ron, to being in Draco’s arms again and exploring both the Inner Lair and the Library. She was lost in her thoughts when a string of swear words and laughing reached her ears. Standing, she was surprised to meet a familiar pair of grey eyes, as another voice demanded to see Willow.

“Mi.” There was a surprise and relief and breathlessness to the way he said her name, and she managed to stop the full-body shiver that wanted to run across her body in response to his voice saying the nickname he initially gave her.

“She’s not here,” she replied calmly, finally taking her eyes from his before turning to see the man that was holding him up. Hermione noted that he was using one arm around Draco’s waist for support while Draco’s other arm draped across the taller man’s shoulders.

“Where’s Willow?” the other man demanded again, his tone agitated. Something about him was familiar to her. The dark hair, blue eyes, and haughty tone were striking something fleetingly in her mind.

“I sent her off with Phee and Charlie. Jer’s in surgery.”

“Shit.” Draco struggled to free himself from the other man and attempted to walk out of the room.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” asked Hermione, moving to intercept him.

“I have to go check on Jer.”

“Like hell, you do. Sit down. Now.”

Draco turned and eyed her warily before slowly making his way to the nearest bed, his gait taking on a bounce hobble shuffle. “Still Bossy as ever I see, Granger.”

“And you’re behaving like a Gryffindor,” she countered, quickly moving in front of him to cast some diagnostic spells, realizing as she did, that he must’ve come in a different way to avoid the triage station and come in without an elf with his diagnosis. She briefly noted the pink glow above his wrist, indicating that he was one of the trainers allergic to Aloe Vera. With a quick wave of her hand, she swapped the creams on the bench. 

“There’s no need to be insulting,” he drawled, ignoring the way she was tutting about him, scanning him with her wand as she did so.

“Well, what else would you like me to say when you’re so preoccupied about your friend that you’re willing to run off without a thought when you’re obviously injured.”

“I am not _obviously_ injured.”

“You were practically being dragged in here by-by-“

“Theo,” the other man replied, realizing she didn’t recognize him. Hearing his name, she spun around and took him in. Yes! Theo Nott! She wasn’t sure how she had missed that. The Slytherin’s appearance was as different as Draco’s was. They had grown and matured in a similar fashion it seemed. “It’s the beard,” he replied with a shrug sensing the way she was questioning how she didn’t recognize him. Hermione nodded. Theo’s beard gave him a rugged look she didn’t recall the gangly kid had Hogwarts having that was for sure.

“Theo. I’m so sorry; I didn’t recognize you. Nice to see you again,” she added sweetly before turning back to Draco.

“That’s alright, Pages,” he replied with a smirk, using the nickname he had given her during 8th year. Hermione felt herself grin at the name, shaking her head as she continued to cast spells over Draco. 

“That doesn’t prove anything,” added Draco unwilling to let it go as he watched her wand glow a bright red.

“Oh no?” she replied, poking him with her wand and watching him wince. “I mean if you want to go into shock by all means. Go run off and be brave and selfless and foolish. I’ll be sure this is here waiting for you.” She taunted him by transfiguring the pillowcase on the gurney into Gryffindor colors.

“Red and Gold might be a good color on you,” added Theo, the hint of amusement evident in his voice.

“We could start calling him the Noble Prince instead of the Slytherin Prince,” teased Hermione looking at Theo over her shoulder. Theo laughed as Draco grumbled for them to shut up.

“Tell you what,” she supplied, “I’ll send your buddy Theo here off to check on Jer’s status, and see if he’s out of surgery, and just as soon as I patch up your bumps and bruises you can follow your Hufflepuff heart on out to the canteen and get everyone some tea and crumpets.”

“Merlin, I forgot how much I liked you Pages. Tea and crumpets sound just like you, DB,” Theo added chuckling softly. Hermione’s head jerked at the name, and she glanced from one to the other. Was Draco DB? How had she not put that together yet!

“Shut up Nott…” grumbled Draco, wincing again as Hermione moved his arm, bringing her attention fully back to him, “Hufflepuff, Mi. Really?”

“Well if I didn’t know any better…”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he hissed.

“Do you know what you got hit with?” she asked, suddenly noting the way her wand was glowing over a particular section of his leg.

“Longhorn,” supplied Theo.

Hermione nodded. “And the burns?”

“Horntail.”

Draco noted her confusion and quickly added that they had been running from a Longhorn “I caught some spray from a Horntail that was looking for a treat after I snagged Jer.”

“Why didn’t you come in with Jer?” she huffed, worried about the results her spells were showing.

“There was still more to do,” he replied shrugging.

“Merlin, she’s right. You are turning into a Hufflepuff,” commented Theo, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Hermione snorted back a laugh, before asking Theo if he could help her remove Draco’s dragonhide jacket. “Just slice it,” muttered Draco wincing in pain as Theo moved to pull a sleeve past his hand. Theo nodded, following the order without question, using a spell to split the jacket at the seams before levitating them away from his body. Hermione conjured a chair to set the coat upon before casting a reparo on the particular material. She noticed a small grimace on Theo’s face as he stepped back. “You two seemed to skip triage,” her words causing both boys to appear somewhat guilty. “Theo, do you have any injuries that require treatment too?”

Theo quickly showed her a couple of bumps and bruises, and other things that he was sure wouldn’t scar too severely, “I was able to push back the horntail that went after Jer and DB and then caught back up with dumbass here as his broom finally gave out.” Draco had the decency to give Hermione a sheepish look, secretly rolling his eyes behind her back as she called Georgina to immediately take Theo to the triage area to have his injuries checked out while she focused on Draco. The two men traded looks, exchanging a conversation over her head before Theo finally nodded and left with the house-elf.

Turning her attention fully back to Draco, she told him to lay back on the bed, biting back a smirk as he wandlessly charmed the pillow to Slytherin colors before laying his head back. “Prat,” she giggled as she crossed to get several of the potion vials and the non-Aloe Vera based burn creams off the bench. She thanked Nonna as the small house elf placed some bandages on a tray next to her, and set several vials down. 

Draco gave her a tight smile as he lifted a hand to request a vial, knowing one was sure to be a pain potion at least. She swatted his arm away, “Your hands are burned you twit. I’m surprised you can’t feel how badly yet.”

“Adrenaline,” he replied with a shrug, grimacing from the action. She nodded and unstoppered the vials, tipping each back into his throat.

“That one doesn’t taste as bad as normal,” stated Draco licking his lips after the last one.

“I added a flavor enhancer,” she mumbled turning her attention back to the bed he was on, quietly casting a spell on the bed to slightly widen it for him so she could work on his hands without moving his body.

Draco tried to talk to her but found his body suddenly too weak. He let out a low groan when she applied the disinfecting spell to both his hands and forearms and was thankful the pain potion had kicked in when she began to use the salve to his hands – knowing how much it usually stung. He felt a moment of cooling wash over him and realized that she had applied a cooling charm along with the bandages for his hands. “That’s new,” he commented, the relief evident in his voice.

“Does it help?” he nodded, not trusting his voice. “Are you comfortable?” he gave a soft grunt in response, and Hermione smiled softly, noting the way his face was beginning to relax from the medications.

Nonna approached her quietly, “Healer Mi is needing more help from Nonna?” Dropping her voice, Hermione immediately set to using the small elf in removing Draco’s socks and shoes, as she ran more spells upon his legs. She wandlessly transfigured one of the bandages into a large cloth that she draped across his lower body. Thankfully his dragonhide jacket had protected his undershirt from damage, but his trousers didn’t seem to fair as well.

“How attached are you to these slacks?” she asked, studying the displayed images above his legs.

“They’re my favorite.”

“Pity,” she replied, vanishing them. Draco felt his eyes roll as he huffed a breath in annoyance, though he found himself thankful that she had had the presence of mind to cover him with that stupid towel first. Not that he minded her seeing him in his all glory, but after all these years, he’d rather not be on display for her on a hospital gurney the first time she saw him that way again. As if sensing his thoughts, she spared him a glance, and a smirk, “Brightest witch of our age.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mumbled, though his lips tugged up in a smile at her teasing tone.

She smiled at him briefly and applied a warming charm to her hands and the burn salve. Noting the way his body stiffened, and the shortness of his breath, she shifted closer to his face, her voice calming and soothing as she spoke. “It’s going to be okay, Dray.”

“I know,” he replied, meeting her eyes. “I trust you.”

Something flashed in her eyes, but he was too tired to process it. The pain potion and calming draught she had given him helping with the pain as the adrenaline wore off and the shock set in. Suddenly he was finding it harder and harder to focus on her, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Rest, Dray. I promise to take good care of you.” Her voice had felt like silk wrapping around his mind; he wasn’t sure if she said it, or if he imagined it, but he found as his eyes closed that it didn’t matter. He was alive. They hadn’t lost anyone, and it hadn’t been a dream. She was with him.

Hermione watched his eyes flutter closed and turned her full attention back to his legs. Thankful that he had finally drifted off so she could focus entirely on healing him. She had finally found out why Draco had been leaning on Theo when he came in – Draco had fractured his ankle, and both of his legs had sustained 1st-degree burns in several places. Lucky, she knew when dealing with dragons, but she couldn’t understand how he had managed without coming in sooner. The back of his hands had been worse, and he had broken his clavicle somehow. 

It took her more than an hour to stitch up, heal, and apply the burn salve and bandages to the rest of his body. Resetting his broken clavicle was fairly straightforward, but she had to vanish the bones from his ankle entirely. Slowly she and Nonna worked some skele-gro down his throat. It would be a long night of bone growing for him. Hermione applied a little extra bruise cream to a few areas where she had seen bumps and bruises forming - especially on his face and arms - making a note of lots of ink now covering his body; not that she was looking closely, but it was hard to miss the colors peeking out here and there along his skin. She had expected the armor tattoo on his one arm - all dragon trainers had them as a matter of passage, but it was the rest she had been unprepared for. 

And surprisingly turned on by.

Nonna had quietly assisted her, providing things for her before she could ask for them, and cleaning up the mess without a sound. When Hermione finally finished, she applied a final cooling charm over all his bandaged areas and smiled softly when she heard a contented sigh escape his lips. Nodding to Nonna, the two cleared the space, with Nonna creating a privacy curtain and dimming the lights surrounding his bed. Hermione added a spell that would notify her when he woke up and was surprised to turn around and spot Phoebe standing behind her.

“That was most impressive Miss Granger.”

Hermione flushed under her praise. “Thank you, Master Healer Durrell.”

“It’s Phoebe, please. The rest of that is a mouthful.”

Hermione nodded, asking the other woman to please call her Mi. Phoebe gave her a knowing smile and agreed. “Has the all-clear been given?” asked Hermione desperate to change the subject.

Phoebe nodded, “Theo and DB were the last to come in - as usual. Everyone else was unharmed.”

“What about Jared? No one’s come back since Phee and Charlie came to get Willow.”

“Jared made it through surgery with flying colors. He’s resting now, and Willow is by his side. She was concerned you were left alone for so long - especially when Theo came in, but he reassured her that DB was in good hands with you.”

Hermione flushed again, “Why do you all call him DB?” she asked softly, glancing over her shoulder to where the man lay sleeping behind the curtain.

“It was his choice. Just as you chose Mi.”

“He chose Mi,” she responded without thinking, suddenly clamping her hand over her mouth.

Phoebe’s face was soft, the look of a maternal grandmother talking to a young child crossing her face, “I know.” Hermione’s eyes grew wide, but before she could ask anything else, Phoebe continued. “We were lucky today. We lost neither dragon nor trainer during the incident, and we sustained minimal damage to any infrastructure.”

Hermione was surprised at how comforting that was to know and thanked Phoebe for the information before the older woman placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, “You should rest a bit while you can.”

Hermione nodded, suddenly feeling the weight of the last few hours settle upon her skin as Phoebe said goodbye. “You did very well today, Mi. I’m glad you decided to rejoin our family.”

The compliments boosted Hermione’s spirit, and she smiled at the older woman as she walked away. Not wanting to leave Draco alone, Hermione pulled out the charts of all the patients they had received during the incident, eager to ensure everyone was healing correctly and discharged if they hadn’t been already while she waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Eek! So I know not what you may have been expecting, but on a Dragon Reserve emergencies are bound to happen! And there's been a bit too much time gone by with everything all quiet in my mind. What did you guys think of Willow and anyone else excited to see Theo? He's one of my fav Slytherins so any chance I get to throw him into a story I generally do. Facecasts for both characters will be up on my pinterest board tomorrow, but I'll tell you now Willow is Bryce Dallas Howard, cause I adore her._
> 
> _Special shout out to **LaBelladoneX** for the inspiration and permission to use the nickname "Pages." I first read it in her story **Saving Grace** \- which is amazing so please go read it asap! The moment I read it, I thought it was the most perfect nickname for Hermione and I've been dying to use it! _
> 
>  
> 
> _As always, I love to hear what you think and value your comments and feedback. Any guesses on what Draco's tattoos are? Or where? *wiggles eyebrows* Spoiler alert (or is it teasing? hehehe) You'll be finding out about both next week! *giggles delightedly and runs away*_
> 
> _See you next week loves!_
> 
> _xx The Wordsmith_


	17. Corners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday loves! So sorry to miss last week - it was the final week of true summer vacation for us, and I just didn't have the energy to do it all. Hopefully, this update makes up for it! 
> 
> Usual disclaimers apply: I don't own HP (or any other referenced work) and I'm not JKR. I just play in the world she created and make zero money off of it. 
> 
> Enjoy!  
> xx The Wordsmith

###  **Corners**

It was a few hours later that the alarm she had set around Draco’s bed had sounded. Gently pushing one of his curtains back, she smiled down at him. Noting the clamminess of his skin and paleness, she asked how he was feeling with some concern.

“I’ve been worse,” he replied, his voice raspy. Hermione ran a couple of diagnostics spell to check his vitals before transfiguring a glass for him and filling it with water from her wand. She held the cup to his lips, helping him take small sips since his hands were still in bandages.

“Thanks.”

She nodded, asking him how the pain was on a scale of 1 to 10. “Somewhere between a 6 and 7,” he replied, studying her beneath his lashes.

“I’m going to give you something for the pain, and perhaps a sleeping draught.”

“Too many nightmares,” he replied, shaking his head.

She nodded again. Knowing from first-hand experience about the unhappy side effect that occasionally accompanied that particular draught. It wasn’t something that affected most people, but anyone that experienced prolonged exposure to the cruciatus curse or suffered extreme trauma tended to have the same negative side effect from sleeping draughts. It was something the two of them had discovered together.

“Draught of peace?” she suggested helpfully. “Or a calming draught.”

“Are you planning on keeping me overnight?”

“I’d prefer it if you did, but if you don’t want to, I understand; you do need to stay for a few more hours at least. One of your legs was worse than you let on.”

He snorted, telling her either draught was fine. Smiling, she crossed to the cabinet and returned with two vials, which she patiently helped him drink down just as she had with the water.

“How’s Jer?”

“Good. Jer came out of surgery a couple of hours ago. Everything looks good, and he’ll be released in a day or so.” Draco let out a relieved sigh before asking after Willow and Phee “Everyone’s fine,” confirmed Hermione softly. “They stopped by a little bit ago to check on you, along with a few others.” 

In truth, Hermione had been surprised by how many people had come by to check on Draco. She had remembered sneaking into to see him in the hospital wing after Harry had nearly killed Draco in 6th year, and how shocked she had been to find his bedside table empty of cards and treats and well wishes. It had broken her heart a little bit then and filled it twice as much to see how things had changed now.

Absently brushing a piece of hair from his forehead, Hermione felt her heart constrict again. It felt strange standing so near him again, to be so close to him after all this time. “I should let you rest,” she whispered.

“Or you could stay,” he suggested, “If you want to.”

She saw something flash in his eyes and felt her cheeks pink. Nodding, she drew a stool near and transfigured it into a chair. “Do you… do you want to talk about it?” she asked, the implication of her question immediately evident.

“Not yet,” he replied, shifting in the bed, uncomfortably. “Not here.”  
She hadn’t thought about that and nodded hesitantly. Her eyes came to rest upon his arms. “Tell me about your tattoos.”

“My tattoos?”

“Well, you were decidedly less colorful the last time I saw you.”

“I guess I was,” he admitted with a soft smile. “I’d never planned on getting any, you know.”

Hermione snorted, her gaze drifting across his heavily tattooed arms, and a bit of ink she had spotted on his torso. “I can tell.” He chuckled, wincing only slightly from the action. “How many do you have now?”  


Draco thought for a moment, “I don’t know anymore.”  


“You don’t know,” she repeated, her mouth gaping slightly at him.  


“Well do I count my sleeve as one tattoo or do I count it by the individual sittings that I had to make it?”  


“Oh.”  


“Yes, oh.”  


“Do you have more than what I can see?” she asked her eyes continuing to take in the different colors and patterns. Hermione's eyes flicked to Draco's, and she blushed again from the look of amusement in his eyes.  


“Yes.” she found her cheeks burning at the implication of that simple word. “What you’re not going to ask me to see them?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows at her.  


Hermione giggled, smacking his chest lightly. “Stop that. I just meant you know if you have a back or chest piece like Charlie.”  


“Studied Charlie’s dragons well have you?” he asked, a hint of jealousy mixed in with his teasing tone.  


“Maybe,” she replied, deciding not to back down. “I quite like Charlie's back piece.”  


“Surprised you don’t like his dragon chest piece more.”  


“No, that thing is a menace and snores.”  


Draco laughed loudly at her words, thinking of the large Chinese Fireball spread across the redhead’s chest. “You know we’ve taught him a silencing spell for that thing for that same reason?”  


“Really?”  


Draco nodded. “Theo almost choked him out once over it.”  


“I don’t blame him. Poppy snores almost as bad as Ronald.” Hermione felt a moment of awkwardness as she mentioned her ex, and quickly cleared her throat. “So how about it then? Any obnoxious Dragons for you?”  


His eyes met hers, a thousand words filling them before his masked slipped into place, and he nodded. “Yeah, there might be a couple.” She glanced between his two arms, hoping to glimpse one of the dragons in question, but saw none. . “So which one do you want to talk about?”

Her eyes roved hungrily across his biceps, noting that she didn’t see a single dragon on the exposed skin she could see presently. Willow had explained briefly that all Dragon trainers had armor tattoos like the one on Draco’s right arm. There was a lot more to the honor and tradition of receiving one she knew, but that’s not what interested her. Hermione had noted while she worked on him that a geometric hexagon pattern appeared on Draco’s left arm. It had separated, the hexagonal pattern disappearing altogether, revealing a full sleeve of ink on his left arm. She hadn’t looked down to his forearm to see if his Dark Mark remained, but the colorful and intrinsic design on his left arm made her more than a little curious. Not just because it was a full sleeve, but that the top half from his elbow up, looked like a riotous garden had exploded on his arm. There was a beautiful script interwoven within the blooms, and what appeared to be a broken pocket watch. The design changed as it reached his elbow before cascading down his forearm to his wrist. Sitting on the outside of his forearm, opposite of where his Dark Mark lay. Looking at it now she realized that there were books on his arm. The bottom one was on its side, closed, with its spine slightly visible. The books above it were opening, the pages seeming to flutter, as the books moved higher up, each growing smaller and smaller as they went up. She realized with a start that the books looked like they were turning into wings like they were flying off the pile, and as they did, appearing to be an animal in flight - a bird or baby dragon perhaps- before disappearing over the field of flowers. 

It was breathtaking, she thought, studying it, and she longed to know what it meant; what the symbols were, the words and images in the books as well as the flowers themselves.

It was then that she asked about it. “Narcissus?”

Draco nodded. “Yes, in honor of my mother; they’re mixed in with some of her favorite flowers from her gardens. They were treasured once upon a time. Her gardens that is. She could coax even the saddest plant into life and bring it into full bloom. It was a natural gift she had. I think she would’ve been a herbology master in another lifetime.” Hermione smiled at the sad lilt to his voice.

“What do the words say?”

Meeting her eyes, he spoke softly, his voice giving away the emotion his face did not, “You are my greatest love and treasure.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“It was the last thing she ever said to me. From the last letter I ever got from her.”

“it’s in her handwriting.” It was a statement rather than a question, and they both knew it. He nodded once. She felt a strong pull to run her hand along his arm, to trace her fingers over the words but was unsure if she should. Her gaze turned once again to the pocket watch. She hesitantly asked if it was for his father.

Draco shrugged. “Not directly. Pocket watches are a part of the Malfoy family tradition. Heirlooms; passed down from grandfather to grandson by the son/father in between. The last thing my father did before he went away gave me mine.”

“Is that – is that why it’s broken?”

“No… Yes…” Draco stared up at the ceiling, thinking about his words carefully before continuing. “It was meant to represent broken promises. Broken dreams. A gift from a broken man.” He chuckled softly, lost in thought. “I threw it against the wall when McGonagall told me my mother had died.”

“I remember.” His eyes snapped back to hers.

“I forgot you were there.” He said, at last, his eyes returning to the ceiling.

“Understandable…” she replied, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, “It was- it was a bad day for you.”

Draco snorted. In truth, it had been one of the worst days of his life; it had also been the catalyst of their friendship.

Seeing him lose control of himself at that moment. His perfect walls and carefully cultivated mask crumbling before Hermione… It had done something to her.  


The two of them were in the Headmistress’ office for a discussion regarding his parole. Hermione, who had been appointed his Sponsor while at Hogwarts, had to be present for the meeting, but even she could tell that there was something the Headmistress wanted to discuss with Draco alone. McGonagall, for her part, tried to tell Draco privately. Had asked to multiple times, but Draco dismissed her. Declaring whatever she had to say would affect Granger, or she would become aware of it anyways. After a long look at Hermione, the woman had finally given in. Nothing could’ve prepared either of them for that news. And when McGonagall had left the room, Draco had seemed to forget that Hermione was present, as he had jumped up suddenly from his chair and snapped. 

The scream of pain and anguish that had left his throat had been unlike anything she ever heard. He viciously threw the pocket watch from his waist coast at the wall, shattering it to pieces and rattling the pictures on the wall. Not a single person in any of the portraits responded or reprimanded him; instead, they watched in shocked horror as the hardened Slytherin had fallen to his knees sobbing.

Hermione had been too transfixed at first even to breathe, let alone move, but seeing him on his knees, pounding his fist on the ground, screaming, crying in agony over the loss of a parent that he sacrificed his entire life to protect… something in it shattered her resolve and touched something deep within her soul. Before she knew it, she was on her knees next to him. Rubbing his back, offering him comfort in the only way she could think to. She half-expected for him to reject her, to push her away, yell at her, or lash out in some way. But Draco didn’t do any of those things. Instead, he turned into her, burying his head into her neck as the sobs racked his body. She hadn’t let her surprise keep her from wrapping her arms around him, as her hands continued to rub circles on his back, her voice, soothing and calm as she offered him what comfort she could. When his cries were exhausted, he continued to cling to her; she shifted to run her fingers through his hair and stroke his back.

She had no idea how long they sat together on the floor in McGonagall’s office that day. It could’ve been hours or minutes for all she knew. Eventually, his body stopped shaking, and his breath had turned calm and even. He had fallen asleep in her arms, and at some point, she must have drifted off as well because the next thing she knew, she was waking up alone on the loveseat in McGonagall’s office. She honestly thought it was a dream until she’d gone to a class a few days later and found a folded note with her name on it at her desk.

There were only two words written inside the note, in a clear, well-scripted hand, _“Thank you.”_

Looking up from the note, she immediately found herself lost in his eyes. She often described them as ice, cold and unfeeling, but at that moment, they no longer resembled hardened steel; instead, they were warm and soft, like the grey of a dove’s feather or a wolf’s coat as it sat in the sunlight. He gave her a nod, and she smiled in return, and just like that, a bridge was crossed in a single heartbeat.

Clearing her throat, she met those eyes again. They reminded her of ashes and smoke blowing in the wind coming from a fire that burned everything to the ground. She remembered the intensity of the flame that burned deep within Draco's soul and the way it captivated her as it charred everything Hermione thought she had known about him to the ground. It should’ve burned her, but it had done the exact opposite. She was somehow ignited by him as if he touched something deeply entrenched within her soul. She felt her whole face flush, as her lashes fluttered down to her cheeks. He let out a low chuckle, and she leaned forward to smack his arm. “Shut up, Prat.”

“Ow. Always so violent woman.”

“Let’s check your bandages.”

“You just want to check under the sheet.” He replied teasingly, waggling his eyebrows at her.

“Maybe I just want to hold your hand.”

She risked a glance at his face and involuntarily giggled at his wide-eyed expression and pink cheeks.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He groaned.

“Can’t be any worse than what the dragons would do to you.”

“Arguable.”

Her laugh rang out loud and clear at that, and in moments they were both laughing together.

 

**(^.=.^)**

 

Draco drifted off to sleep, allowing Hermione to seek out Dr. Simmons. She was anxious to see if more was needed of her after everything, but was quickly reassured all was well. A quick check assured her that everyone except for Jerrod, Draco and one other patients were released immediately after treatment, and nothing more was required. An odd mix of satisfaction and relief crossed her mind. It was a familiar feeling Dr. Simmons informed her as he checked in on her and ran scans on Draco. Nodding at her findings and satisfied with his progress.

Afterward, Phee and Charlie stopped by to check on them, albeit briefly, and she was grateful when George dropped by with a cup of tea, some biscuits and her bag – which contained a book and one of Draco’s journals that she had been reading.

George sat with her for a few minutes catching her up a bit, “Ginny is still at Charlie’s, but Harry left with Ron.” He paused to see if she would ask him any questions about where Harry had taken her ex, but when she showed nothing but a stiffening of her spine and a shaky breath of anger, he rubbed her shoulders comfortingly. “It’s ok, Mi,” he whispered. “He’s not going to get away with this, and he can’t hurt you like this ever again.” 

Hermione bit her lip and nodded, wiping absently at a stray tear, angry that she had given so much time and energy to such a fraud. “Is Harry going to come back?” she asked at last.

“Yeah, he’s going to come back. He wants to see you and that git,” he replied, pointing to where Malfoy lay behind the curtain. “But he won’t be returning with that twatwaffle.” she laughed as George used one of her favorite swear words to describe his troublesome brother. “Do you want to know what happened when you left?” She turned a curious eye to her friend. “Well, of course, Ginny hit him with the bat-bogey hex.”

“Well, of course, I would’ve been disappointed if she hadn’t.”

“And she added the slug spewing hex for good measure.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Oh, that sounds uncomfortable.”

“Watching him sneezing bats and vomiting slugs simultaneously was disgusting, if not quite hilarious.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “And Phee hit him with something too.”

“Really? she didn’t mention it.”

“She’s almost as scary as you with a wand,” George informed her with a twinkle in his eye, sending Hermione into a fit of giggles. “I’m not even sure what she hit him with, but she did say he would have a hard time using his favorite appendage for quite some time.” Hermione couldn’t stop the loud laugh that escaped her throat, finally commenting that it served him right.

“He deserves far worse, Mi, and he’s going to get it. Don’t you worry.”

Hermione met his eyes, confidently, “I’m not worried, George. I know the truth now, and I have you.”

“That you do, love. For always.” She smiled as he kissed her temple, trusting that the situation with Ronald was handled.

When George left, Hermione settled in a chair next to Draco, pulling out the journal he had given her, content to read by his side until he woke up again. Flipping in the journal her eyes alighted on the page, stumbling across another entry

_I found a new poet today named Beau Taplin. His words touched me in a way I’d normally never admit, but all I could think of as I read his words were you. How could someone know exactly how my heart aches for you and longs for you?_

_“There is a corner of my heart that is yours. And I don’t mean for now or until I’ve found somebody else. I mean to say that whether I fall in love a thousand times over or never again, there will always be a small quiet place that belongs only to you.”_

_I wish I could reach out to you and touch you right now. I never knew that I could be so homesick for a person. Even after all these many months had passed. I think of you at 3 a.m. when I awake alone in my room and wonder if you are okay. If you are alone. If you are happy. I hope that you are happy Chaton. You deserve to be._   


_It’s raining. I can smell a hint of vanilla and lavender in the air. Your scent mingling with the rain. It makes my body tighten and tingle. If I turn my head just right, I can swear you’re here that you’ve just crept out of bed to read or to go to the bathroom. But the bed is cold, and I know that it was all a dream and you’re not here, no matter how deeply I long for you to be here. But still, I can’t regret you. I can’t regret any number of our stolen moments, of knowing how you feel or how you taste._

_It made me think of another poem from Taplin, “I would choose a handful of moments with you over a lifetime with anyone else.”_

_What I wouldn’t give for another moment with you, for a hundred moments with you, to know what it would be like to spend a lifetime in your arms and your heart, but I am content in the handful of moments we shared. In the memories that I cherish and hold on to still._

Hermione sighed, glancing over at the man to her left, wondering if those words were still true. If there was still a corner of his heart that belonged to her… just as there was a place within her that still belonged solely to him… and if it was too late to experience new moments with him. “Please don’t let it be too late,” she whispered, leaning forward and brushing a kiss against his forehead. “Please don’t let it be too late for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first, Beau Taplin. If you haven't read his work, go google him right now. He's on pinterest, IG, fb, blah blah blah. His work... when I say his words moved me, I mean they _moved_ me. HIs poem "Forests" is one of my favorites, but his poems on love and relationships. Just. Fecking. Hell. My muses went nuts and I fell down a rabbit hole of his work, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. 
> 
> Second, it finally dawned on me that I had a way to share some of my artwork and sketches of things that I've drawn/created for these stories all along and I was an idiot for not using it sooner. So if you want to my sketch of Draco's sleeve pop on over to tumblr and you'll find a picture of it! Just search for WordsmithMusings265. I'm gonna tell you right now, I AM NOT AN ARTIST, but I enjoy doodling and that's what his sleeve is. In other words, be kind, okay? I'm still a person.
> 
> And finally... what'd you think? There are a couple more tats in hiding we'll hear about later, so be patient. My husband and I arguing over whether trainers would have tats EVERYWHERE or just upper body/sleeves, blah blah. So feel free to weigh in those thoughts, and as always any comments are always appreciated! See you next week! 
> 
> xx The Wordsmith


	18. Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder **bolded words** are meant to be spoken in French and translated for ease of reading. 
> 
> Other than that... I dont' own HP, I'm not JKR, and I hope you enjoy!

###  **Curiosity**

Hermione was aware of several things at once: a terrible crick in her neck, hushed voices deep in conversation, and the pleasant feeling of someone rubbing her scalp and neck. She sighed softly, knowing that only one person did that to her. Once the sigh escaped her lips, Hermione was aware of the conversation around her, stopping suddenly. Thinking this was odd, and that perhaps the conversation could be about her, she focused on returning her breath to an even steady pace. After a few moments, she noticed the pleasant feeling of strong fingers on her scalp resumed, and she allowed her body to relax again, hoping that the voices would continue.

Within another few breaths, she was rewarded when the conversation picked back up. “She can see your tattoos? All of them? You’re sure?” asked the distinctive female voice.

“She didn’t see the dragons, but the sleeve-”

“Did you silence the dragons? I have not heard them roar.” Hermione felt her brow wrinkle. What on earth did silence the dragons mean? What did dragons could she be speaking of? Did he have a dragon tattoo? It wouldn’t surprise her. Charlie had several. The largest of which was a Chinese fireball stretched across his chest. But she wasn’t aware that it needed to be silenced. 

“Yes, on the range. I didn’t want to distract or call forth Perdita.” Who was Perdita? Hermione wondered. Hermione's mind tried to keep track of the conversation now, as she continued to focus on her breathing as to not interrupt the conversation. It was probably a rather underhanded thing to do, she thought, as she let out another steady breath, but Hermione couldn’t help the intrigue she felt. 

“That was wise, Dragon. All we would’ve needed was for another temperamental dragon to join the scuffle.”

“I was more afraid she would be injured, trying to protect me.”

Hermione recognized a noise of agreement and a throat clearing. “Did she ask about the armor?”

Draco’s hand moved slightly as he shifted his fingers to the nape of her neck. The pressure he placed there almost drawing out a moan of pleasure from her. It was voice quiet when he responded, “She asked about the flower sleeve.”

“But not about the armor?”

“She wanted to, but I’m not sure what she knows about it,” he paused, his fingers toyed with a curl before he resumed massaging her scalp. “ I didn’t want to scare her.”

“She’s been here on and off for several months now. It’s possible someone told her about the tradition. Though she is friends with Charlie, is she not? He may have told her about his armor.”

“Perhaps, though I’d rather not consider her knowing of his tattoo.”

“If they are as close as everyone makes them out to be, it would not be an unreasonable conclusion.”

“I know. I just…” Draco's voice drifted off as his fingers returned once again to her curls.

A bark of laughter accompanied her next question, “Are you jealous, young dragon?” 

“It’s hard not to be alright?” huffed Draco. “He’s gotten to be close to her for the last several years. Spent time with her. He knows what makes her happy and sad, and - and I don’t, okay? And I don’t like it.”

Hermione felt the bed shift slightly but didn’t dare peak to see what caused the movement. She heard a soothing tone and soft motherly tut come from closer above her head than before and realized Portia must have shifted closer to Draco to talk to him. “But we both know that Charlie is NOT in love with her, don’t we? It’s alright to be jealous of their friendship Draco, but we both know that whatever he has with her is not what you had.”

“I hate the time I lost with her. The time that insufferable flobberworm cost us. And he was with her! Claimed to love her for years! That fucking twat had everything I wanted and destroyed everything we had in the process.”

“Yes, and if I had my way, he’d already be in pieces amongst the Horntails for hurting you this way.”

Draco gave a soft chuckle. “I would’ve left him alive in the mountains with the Ironbellies and prayed to Circe they didn’t get indigestion from eating the redheaded weasel whole.”

Hermione fought back a snicker at Draco’s words, hopefully covering it with a small cough and sigh. The conversation once again lagged, and she felt the bed shift again as Portia seemed to move away from Draco. He spoke again as his fingers once again rubbed soothingly against her scalp. “I think if she knew the history of the armor that she’d have started with that.”

There was a sigh. “You’re probably right. You do have a great deal more layers to your armor tattoo than Charlie does.”

“That’s why I’m afraid she doesn’t know the full history.”

“Will you tell her?”

There was a pause of his fingers in her scalp, and a deep sigh, “Yes. I won’t lie to her if she asks. Being a Dragon Trainer comes with risks, and she knows that.”

“Knowing about those risks and caring for someone who takes those risks are quite different young dragon.”

“I’m aware. She’s stronger than you think, though.”

There was a lull in the conversation, and then Portia scoffed at his words. “And you’re sure she didn’t do any spells to cause your sleeve to reveal itself to her.”

“She ran a lot of spells Portia, but I’m sure I would’ve noticed a finite incantem or a revelio.”

“True,” replied Portia, “but you lot all swear she’s smart, so it’s possible.”

“She IS smart Portia. Everyone who’s met her or worked with her knows that – even Will, stubborn mule that she can be, noted it.”

There was silence for a moment before Portia spoke again. “It’s unusual you know for the tattoo to reveal itself. It usually only happens if –“

“The person is someone you trust implicitly and has the desire to see the real you without judgment. If they love you.” He finished for her.

“Yes. Yes. That too.” Hermione heard the dismissiveness in her tone. “But are you sure, my dragon? She hurt you so deeply.”

“As I hurt her Portia. Probably even more so.” The pain and regret buried in his voice.

“I doubt that. She wasn’t the one who had to see you when you got here.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t let me stay that way for long.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice now.

“You were a sobbing lovesick fool. Broken. So broken, little dragon. I hadn’t felt the need to mother anyone since my own Ophelia was born.”

“Are you sure you weren’t the one that was broken?”

She laughed then. A delighted sound that seemed to contradict the huskiness of her voice. She sounded like one of those ladies that was a five pack a day smoker. The kind that sang those deep jazzy blues songs about unrequited love, that tore your soul open, but when she laughed, she sounded like she was light and flying. Like she was free. “Love is for fools, my dear boy. You know how I feel about that.”

“Love is just as dangerous as taming a dragon, and half as rewarding.”

Hermione quickly pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Yeah, Portia sounded like she had very cynical jaded feelings on love. Thinking back to his journals, she attempted to put the connections back together as to who she was…. Portia. Mother of Ophelia. Twin sister to Phoebe. Phoebe Hermione’s boss, one of the Durrell sisters, Tatianna’s daughters. Portia was the head of… Dragonology, Hermione thought suddenly. She was one of the few Grandmaster Dragonologists in the world, and she had a deep connection to her sisters due to they're shared loves in herbology and potions. What had Draco’s journal said about them? She racked her brain for a moment, and almost cheered when the memory came rushing to her mind.

It was early in one of his journal entries. _The formidable Durrell Sisters,_ he called them. Even though they each married, all three women kept their maiden name in some way, not wanting their Father’s legacy to be lost. They relied heavily on each other, each of their passions - herbology, dragons, and potions dependent one upon another. Dragons changed landscapes with their fires, their dregs, and their wastes. They required certain things of their homelands and lived more harmoniously than almost any other creature in the magical world when it came to their habitats. Herbology ensured that certain plants were always available and that the environments were never unchanged. Potions relied heavily on herbology for ingredients and dragons for the same reason. Potions could speed up development or kill plants, and it could heal or harm even the largest of dragons when combined with the right ingredients. They were reliant and dependent upon each other. A wayward dragon in the wrong habitat could damage the ecosystem, thus destroying valuable plants and herbs used in potion ingredients or necessary for other creatures to live on. A non-native plant species could choke out valuable native species and spread like a plague if left unchecked. The invasive plant could be eradicated or contained within a specific area by the use of dragon fire or dragon dung. New potion ingredients could be discovered in the shadows of Dragon dens or habitats or could poison an entire breed if ingested by livestock dragons fed on. 

It was a delicate balance that required patience, perseverance, and passion. Something the Durrell sisters seemed to have in spades.

Draco noted how each was an entity of itself. Each area could survive and be manipulated alone. The women were like their passions - reliable, intimidating, deadly - especially if you didn’t respect it or understand what you were dealing with. But together? Together they were far more powerful. _It was how a family was meant to be,_ he declared in his journal, _how life was meant to be lived, at once desiring to soar while remaining firmly rooted._ His words were filled with awe, and as Hermione read on, she was surprised by the continued words and quotes he wrote. His fascination with them evident in page after page where he wrote snippets of conversations with them, events that happened in their day to day when he worked with them. Hermione learned quickly that the Durrell women were fiercely loyal and protective of him, _their newest dragon,_ Draco wrote the name given to him by Portia. But reading his words, allowed Hermione to see how much he admired these women.

 _What the Black Sisters could’ve been_ he lamented on one page. _Fierce. Strong. Indomitable. Courageous. The Durrell sisters argue and bicker, as sisters do, but they are loyal to a fault to each other, and more protective of each other than any other family I’ve ever experienced. I can’t help but wonder what the war would’ve been like if the Black Sisters had stuck together, like the Durrells, if they had banded together to stand up for what was right instead of allowing themselves to be torn apart so? My mother often cried over the loss of her relationship with Andromeda when we were alone. Being around my aunts now, I can finally understand what she meant — seeing Portia and Phoebe together. The bond they have. It is what I imagined my mother had with her beloved sister. It makes me ashamed that I’ve never reconciled with her on my mother’s behalf. I can’t imagine Phoebe being the only Durrell sister alive, alone and without her family legacy. It’s how Andromeda is now. It’s why I brought her back into the family fold when I consolidated everything. I’m not even sure if she knows it. It’s not like its much. But hopefully, it honors my mother’s legacy and these beautiful women, so much like the Black sisters, that have taken me into their hearts. I don’t know if I’ll ever repay their kindness, but maybe this small gesture is a way for me to pay their kindness forward._

It was easy to see that he loved each of them deeply, but Portia - Portia was his favorite. She reminded him strongly of the woman his mother had been… _before, and who she might’ve grown to be had she not been the dutiful pureblood daughter, and later wife._ If Luca, Phoebe’s husband, had become a father figure to him in those first few years, then it was Portia who had become his mother. And now, they were sitting together discussing her, Draco's feelings and his tattoos, while Hermione laid there with a crick in her neck, Draco’s fingers kneaded the nape of her neck and her scalp. Hermione would’ve chuckled if it had been any other time, but then it hit her.

Before she could realize what she was doing, she bolted upright. Surprising not just herself but the two people talking around her. Draco was quick to act, swinging his body to face hers, and grasping her shoulders, “Mi?”

She blinked rapidly, trying to remember where she was, what she was doing. The revelation hit her again. They were still in the medical wing. She had fallen asleep in her chair while reading and somehow ended up with her head on Draco’s bed. Mortification settled upon her face as her brain caught up with the situation. She had fallen asleep AT WORK while ON the job. While taking care of a patient. An important patient. Her cheeks flamed bright red, and her breath hitched in her throat. Panic coming over her. She had been so caught up listening to him, her curiosity so piqued by his open and honest conversation with his aunt that she had forgotten just what she was meant to be doing! And she had been SLEEPING! Mortification settled over here as her breath became labored and shaky. 

“Mi. Breathe. It’s ok.”

“I fell asleep at work!” Hermione gasped in horror.

Behind him, Portia tutted once, and Draco shot her a glare over his shoulder forcing Portia to lift her hands in supplication, her face turned as if to say she wouldn’t comment further. Draco returned his attention to Hermione, her breath was still shallow and her face still bright red. “Mi,” he soothed, “it’s four in the morning. You’ve been by my side for hours. You’re allowed to sleep, you know.”

Hermione blinked several times, taking his words into account, trying to get her brain to accept this new information. Nodding softly after a moment as his hand slipped to cup her cheek, his thumb gently brushing against her jawline. **“Its ok, kitten,”** he whispered. 

Hermione met his eyes, feeling them anchor her to the moment as she willed herself to calm down. Her cheeks flamed, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at Portia - afraid of the judgment she’d receive. Draco continued to rub his thumb against her cheek, his grey eyes as soft as a dove’s feather. His voice dropped, pitched for her ears only, as French poured effortlessly from his mouth to soothe her soul. Hermione felt his magic tingle against her skin where his hand cupped her cheek, his other hand moving to the back of her hand, gently rubbing circles at her nape. Hermione pressed her head to the hand against her cheek. A deep sigh escaped her mouth as she felt his magic slide across her skin. **“That’s it, Hermione,”** Draco soothed in French, **“in…. and out, kitten. Nice and slow.”** Hermione nodded, her mind still racing. **“It’s ok, love. I promise."**

Draco gave her a reassuring smile as her breathe finally became even and steady. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she said at last. His gaze felt like a soft caress; his eyes as calming as his voice and magic were. She felt buoyed by his actions, reminded of how attentive to her moods and feelings he had once been. The man before her so reminiscent of the boy she had fallen in love with years ago. It was comforting in a way, she thought. To know they had both grown, changed in so many ways, yet could still be there for each other like this. Hermione's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as her magic hummed within her, responding as it always had to his. 

Her eyes opened suddenly, “Oh! How are you feeling?” she exclaimed, taking his hand in hers to check it’s healing. 

Draco chuckled and gave her a lop-sided grin. **“Much better now, kitten.”** The words slipped over her soul like a purr. 

She felt herself blush deeply and found herself resisting the urge to smack him as she replied in French, **“Stop that, Dray. What will your Aunt think?”**

Behind him, Portia lifted a well-sculpted brow. Draco’s smile softened as he spoke, his thumb and eyes drifting down to her lips and back again, **“That I care about you as deeply as I did before, and - and that perhaps the feeling is mutual.”**

Chocolate met pewter as she gazed unwaveringly back into his eyes; she smiled softly at the pinkness that tinged his cheeks. An unsure, uncocky Draco was not something she had seen in quite some time. It was nice to know that the feelings she had long felt for him were still stirring in his heart.

 **“It is. Mutual. Very much so,”** she stammered, her confidence fading slightly as the hope bloomed in his eyes. She ducked her head, as he winked at her, muttering "stop that" under her breath. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she directed him to lay back, switching to English as she directed him, “Let’s see how you’re healing.”

“Yes, Doctor.” He chuckled again as he gave her another wink and she turned another shade of red despite her dark complexion. “Such a good color on you,” he mused.

Hermione mumbled something intangible, trying not to look across to Portia who watched her closely from the chair on the opposite side of the bed. While Draco still had some bruises and some pain, everything else appeared to be completely healed. Still, Hermione double-checked his hands and asked him for his pain level as she checked his leg once more.

“You did a good job, Mi. I’m good as new.” Hermione nodded, relief flooding her body. His vitals looked good. He may have a new scar on his ankle, but overall, there would be no new scars to add to his litany of battle wounds. 

“I can discharge you now if you’d like. That way, you can go home and sleep in your bed.”

“I’d like that.” She knew better than to meet his eyes at the moment, she was sure if his aunt hadn’t been there that there would’ve been a number of innuendos or flirtatious propositions that escaped his lips, and while he may not say them out loud, if she looked into his eyes, she was sure she’d see them there.

His Aunt rose and leaned over the bed to talk to Draco while Hermione moved to prepare his release. Her eyes, however, returned to gaze upon his aunt. She felt slightly awkward as she studied her, but it was the first time Hermione could recall having seen this Durrell sister.

Portia was striking in her beauty and grace, like her mother and twin Phoebe, her countenance one of royalty; unlike the softness that her twin carried, Portia’s appearance was one of a battle-ready General. She wore a close-fitting jacket that touched the top of her thighs. The main body of it was composed of individual black dragon scales, and the arms were a form-fitting dragonhide. The contrast of hard and soft seemed to sum her up perfectly and reinforced the balance of masculine and feminine attributes that continued throughout her attire. Her wrists were adorned with silver cuff bracelets, two of which had beautiful stones in the center and reminded Hermione of Dragon eyes. Her pants were close-fitting, so unlike the clothing most witches wore, and also appeared to be dragon hide. The pants disappeared into her knee-high black dragonhide boots. They had a Victorian edge to them, lacing up the front with only a slight heel. Portia’s body was long and lean, one that was honed from years spent flying, and the fishtail braid that hung over her right shoulder to her waist had a decided wind-swept look to it that continued to the crown. Instead of giving her an unruly appearance, however, it looked voluminous and purposeful. It was wild without being disruptive, and the pale silver color only helped to provide her with a refined air. 

Like Hermione, Portia appeared to wear minimal makeup, a touch of mascara and perhaps a bit of something on her lips; the flush to her cheeks was natural, Hermione decided, and even at rest, there was a softness, that belied her hardened appearance. Hermione noted laugh lines, mixed in with crows feet, and while she spent hours in the sun, she didn’t have sunspots or discoloration to her flawless skin.

When the woman looked up, Hermione felt her breath catch. It wasn’t that she had been caught staring at the older woman, but it was the color of her eyes that once again struck her. Across the bed, were the same bewitching grey eyes she had come to adore in her wizard. In Portia, they were liquid and precise, at once familiar and unsettling. It seemed the Black family gene carried heavily across the generations, and there was no escaping the penetrating depths that took her from head to toe with a knowing look.

“I look forward to getting to know you more Miss Granger.”

“And I you, Grandmaster Durrell.” One perfectly arched eyebrow rose at the use of her title. Draco seemed to give his aunt a look that said ‘I told you so’ and they traded a few words in what Hermione suspected was Romanian, before the older woman, departed.

“When did you get new pants?” Hermione asked, watching Draco remove his sheet and stand up. She saw a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and immediately held up her hand. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”

Draco gave her a small chuckle. “Killjoy.” For a moment, the air in the room seemed to change, charged with unknowing and words and emotions unsaid. “Can I see you tomorrow?” he asked after a few minutes of awkward silence.

“I’d like that,” she replied.

"Yeah?” he asked, his voice soft and laced with uncertainty as he tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. 

“Yeah,” she affirmed again, doing her level best not to lean into his touch again.

“Will you be okay getting back?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll apparate. You probably should too, or have one of the elves take you.”

“That would probably be wise for both of us.” She begrudgingly agreed, and while he called two elves to take them home, she grabbed a couple more vials for him. “A pain potion, and a draught of peace - just in case you can’t go back to sleep.” 

Draco nodded. He noted the look on her face briefly as their fingers skimmed each other as she passed him the vials. He debated only for a moment before he reached out for her and wrapped her in his arms. There was so much he wanted to say to her, so much more he wanted to do her. He longed to press his lips to hers and part her lips and taste her. His brain warred with his heart as his lungs filled with the familiar scent of her. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to feel this. To admit that he needed this. Needed her. Draco let go of her with a heavy sigh and took a step back. 

He would have to wait. He could be patient a little while longer. It was a lie, he thought to himself, but then again he had always been very good at lying to himself.

Seeming to read his thoughts, she blushed deeply and nodded her head at the Elf that appeared next to her. With a pop, she was gone, and Draco was sure he heard a whispered **“Goodnight Dray.”** In the air around him.

Hermione returned to her new home within the Sanctuary with a pop and kindly thanked the Elf for bringing her home safely. She didn't jump when a light turned on after the Elf left with another Pop. George sat on Hermione's couch, waiting for her, a tired smile on his face, and a drink next to him under a stasis charm. Standing, he handed her the cup, and Hermione took a deep sip, thankful for the familiar taste of her favorite margarita as it slid down her throat.

“Thought you might need that,” he stated with a chuckle as she took another deep drink and sighed. She smiled at him, thankful, as always for the depth of his friendship, and walked into his arms willingly. George had given her so much during her grief when she felt lost and confused. While she would always love Harry, her first best friend, it was George that genuinely held the title now, and she found his understanding at this moment was just what she needed. 

Holding her tightly, he asked if she wanted to talk about it.

“Not tonight.” George nodded in understanding. The last few days had indeed been full of surprises, and he knew that her brain would need time to process it all before she could speak of it.

It was one of the things that made their friendship great - the complete respect and understanding they shared — knowing when they needed to speak and when they needed to give space. And really when all either of them needed was a drink. George held her for a few more minutes, releasing her only so she could finish her margarita with a sigh. Thas they had countless times before, Hermione and George made their way up the stairs together, taking comfort in the other. George made himself comfortable atop her blanket as Hermione prepared herself for bed. He pulled the sheet back for her and waited for her to get cozy under the covers before he kissed the top of her head. George accio’d her favorite book, which zoomed into his hand from downstairs, and read aloud to her until she fell asleep. 

They both knew these moments would be fewer and farther between as he returned to London, and she continued in Romania. Neither spoke about the way their relationships could change, or what role Draco or Angie would play in them. They simply didn’t need to. They had become best friends, and no distance or time would change what they shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Well? What did you think? Lots of little bread crumbs for future chapters, and still a sloooooooooooooooow burn. (I know it's killing me too! LOL) And Portia! She was one of the first characters I came up with when I created this story and I've been dying to introduce her properly. There's an image of her on my Pinterest. I don't know who the actual model is but I'd be happy to be her when I grow up! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed loves! Until next week...
> 
> xx The Wordsmith


	19. Distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves and Happy October! I haven't forgotten you or either of my WIPs, but sadly RL has been insane lately. And honestly... it's only going to get worse over the next couple of months as my family is in the process of a GIANT MOVE. So I'm throwing my update schedule out the window, and when I have a moment I'll post. Maybe you'll see an update twice a week, maybe you'll see one every other week. It's all going to be up to the universe and the powers that be, as we navigate the next few months with limited everything. Just know no matter what, I'm not abandoning my work and I'm still here. Writer's block, moving, migraines, crazy children and RL life be damned. It might take me a million moons, but we'll get there eventually. 
> 
> Blanket disclaimer from here on out - I don't own HP. I'm not JKR or Warner Bros, etc. I'm here for the love of it, and make no money off of anything.
> 
> It's just me and Grammarly for this fic, so if you see any errors please gently let me know. I own them and the plotlines and that's about it. 
> 
> xx the Wordsmith

###  **Distractions**

Hermione awoke several hours later, feeling a mixture of confusion and contentedness. She reached happily for a cup of coffee on her nightstand, knowing George left it there for her and absently opened a letter she found next to it. Inside was a note from Phoebe advising her to take the next two days off due to her hard work. The following day she was to report to Dr. Simmons for a debriefing on the emergency only before continuing her time off. She would receive an overall evaluation of her performance to date at the time as well, as she would be switching from the Healing side to the Potions lab when she returned to work later this week.

Working with Dr. Fitz was one of the things Hermione was most excited about. The work Dr. Simmons was doing in the Healing world was renowned across Europe, but the discoveries being made in his potions lab were changing the face of the Modern world - both magic and muggle. It was a sign of what the RDS was capable of at its heart. The R&D department and the desire to share knowledge and work beyond the bounds of their given professions evident in their discoveries. Hermione was almost giddy at the chance to learn at both of their feet; she knew Fitz was very near a breakthrough that would revolutionize several of the potions used regularly in their Healing work. She could not wait to see the progress he had made since the last time she was there. Fitz was also impressed with some of the additions Hermione made to improve some of the potions she regularly used at St. Mungos, and he had submitted the request for her to join his research team personally. It was a dream come true, the chance to continue to learn and study with some of the most brilliant names in the potion and healing fields without having to choose one or the other. 

No wonder Draco had flourished here. 

Thinking of him, brought a blush to her cheeks, and she quickly jumped out of bed in the hopes of distracting herself from all that she had learned in the last 48 hours. It should overwhelm her, but she found it didn't. Not really. It excited her and made her wonder where they would be now if Ron hadn't stepped in. The question Draco asked Harry swam in front of her mind and Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if she had met him that night, on his birthday, all those years ago. Would he have asked her? Would she have said yes? 

Sucking in a breath, Hermione shifted her focus as she made her way towards the bathroom. Perhaps the thought of what could’ve happened was a bit more overwhelming than she realized. Gazing about the room, Hermione caught sight of herself in the mirror and made a split decision that she needed a little self-care. Examining her curls, Hermione decided they required some extra TLC and reached for the patented blend of conditioner she created some years ago. 

Sleakeazy was an excellent potion for most magicals, a staple in every witch’s toiletry kit, and in 4th year it worked to tame her curls for the Yule Ball. But the day after her hair had felt drier than straw. Speaking with her dorm mates, Hermione had pieced together that sleakeazy wasn’t meant for textured hair like hers. Lavender had used the same potion in her hair, and the next day her beautiful blonde hair reverted to its natural state with no adverse side effects. Angelina confessed that she used the famous hair potion once but never again for the same reason that Hermione noted. Naturally, the boys hadn’t understood her frustration over it, nor had Ginny or Lavender. But Angelina did, and to some degree so did the Patil twins. With some help from Professor Sprout, and trial and error, Hermione had found an alternative made from several common muggle ingredients and a few special ones typically used in potions. Hermione hadn’t set out to create anything revolutionary, but found that the hair bars she made to wash, condition and deep condition her hair left it softer and shinier, though still just as wild. It would seem no amount of magic, shea butter/coconut concoction, flower or herbs could combine could change that. 

Hermione smiled as she washed her hair with the new honey-based shampoo bar she was still testing, thinking of Draco’s words and how he had noted the smell of it even in her hair. She was a bit surprised he could place it over all the other ingredients in her leave-in conditioner. Still, Draco had always enjoyed the smell of her hair, often nuzzling into it while they slept or carefully helping her detangle it. Hermione’s cheeks flushed as those memories rushed through her mind. Thoughts of his hands deep in her hair, massaging the specially formulated detangler into her hair before working the comb through it section by section. It was something that felt so intimate, yet so right at the time. 

Draco never demanded she straightened her hair or changed it in any way the way Ron often had. Instead, he praised it, never once referring to it as a bird’s nest the way he had when they were children. No, Draco would spend hours telling her how he loved the way the curls bounced and caught the light, how he loved to sink his hands into the mass of curls and lose his hands within them as he rubbed her scalp. Often pushing it to the side to tell her how he loved to wrap his hands in it and tug it none too gently as Draco tilted her head back as he took her from behind.

That line of thought made Hermione groan, and she absently rubbed her hands over her face to clear the images from her mind. It was too soon, she reminded herself again, trying not to think of the way their bodies still fit together - the way Hermione wanted to kiss him and feel the planes of his hardened body against her. She wanted to explore his body and discover it’s new secrets… find the dragons he spoke of as she studied him. What other ink would reveal itself to her, she wondered, thinking of his legs and back, and the surprise Portia had shown that his sleeve revealed itself to her.

Fucking hell, she mused, realizing how turned on she was suddenly, and blasting herself with cold water under the shower, hoping to curb her sudden desire to touch herself.

Her frustration didn’t ebb as she spelled her hair dry and got dressed. They only learned the truth 48 hours ago, and Draco had been in the hospital, injured on the job less than 24 hours ago. Now was not the time to be thinking about his tongue on her nipples, and his hand tugging her hair to expose her neck to his mouth. Groaning loudly, Hermione stomped down her stairs in search of breakfast.

Scowling deeply, she was surprised by a voice at her table as she made her way to the kitchen. 

“I recognize that look.” Hermione smiled at Harry, who then gave her a sheepish smile. “I hope you don't mind. George let me in.”

“No, of course not,” she replied quickly, thankful for the distraction Harry provided from the wandering thoughts of her wild imagination. “Where is he by the way? “

“He left for the day, something about going to spend time with his favorite friend.”

“Ah, yes. Fred.“

“Fred?“ asked Harry, his confusion evident. 

“Yes. Fred the Chinese fireball.”

Harry smiled, oddly feeling that her answer was more than appropriate. “How are you feeling?” he asked, watching her move around the kitchen to get herself something to eat. 

“Harry there's been so much that's happened in the last 48 hours, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific.”

He laughed at that, knowing that she wasn’t exaggerating. “Ron. Malfoy. Being here. Really I just want to know how you are ‘Mione - Mi.” he quickly amended noting the way her eyes had narrowed. 

Sitting down next to him, she summoned a jar of honey and poured it over the bowl of yogurt and granola and fresh fruit she had thrown together. Draco's favorite breakfast, she realized with a start, before dismissing the thought quickly. It was one of her favorites too, she reasoned. Draco didn’t have a monopoly on it, she thought to herself with a huff. Just because she couldn’t always eat it without thinking about him, didn’t mean a thing. Shaking her head, Hermione stirred the combination abruptly. “I haven't had time to process it all honestly. I'm angry with Ron. So, so angry.”

Harry nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “That’s the consensus at the moment.” Hermione’s scowled again as she took a bite of her breakfast. “He's at the ministry currently. Being investigated for abuse of position and power. Kingsley was less than thrilled when I explained the situation.”

Hermione snorted, “He’s not the only one.”

“Ron was still trying to explain why he did it.”

“Of course, he was.”

“Kingsley assigned some of the older Aurors to guard him. He felt that he couldn’t be trusted with some of the younger Aurors - ones that knew him like Dean or still see him as a war hero.”

“Is there anyone left that still sees him like that and not as a Lothario?”

Harry grimaced, “Cormac, perhaps.”

Hermione scowled. Of course, Cormac would defend Ron. “ Idiots the pair of them.”

“No arguments from me. Kingsley was unhappy as I was, and understood why I asked for an independent investigation.” 

Hermione nodded, feeling it was justified. “And after that? “

“House arrest at the Burrow while they sort out his punishment. Gin is there now talking to Molly and Arthur. We know how defensive Molly can get and how unhelpful she had been during your split.”

She snorted at his broad description of Molly's feelings. The Weasley Matriarch was a fierce and loyal woman, sometimes to her detriment. Molly had been furious when Hermione broke up with Ron, his infidelity meaning nothing to her until the articles in the Prophet had begun pouring in by the dozens. She had been hard-pressed to admit that Ron was not behaving the way she raised him and only apologized to Hermione under immense pressure from the rest of the family. Arthur, in particular, had been a loud voice of reason, commenting on the backlash Ron's behavior was causing not just to him at work but also to Percy and George in their respective businesses. Charlie had also been the one to convince her that Hermione was not in fault for his actions. Something Ginny reiterated when she finally lost it during a Sunday dinner, screaming at her mother over the table, “Would you blame me if Harry stepped out on me? Because I chose to follow my dream and work rather than stay home and pop out a bunch of kids for him?” Molly had flustered and stammered, telling her daughter of course not, and how disappointed she would be in Harry if he did that to her. Ginny calmed slightly showing her mother that she had proven her point. “Hermione’s always been another daughter and sister to the Weasley family. She doesn’t need to marry Ron for that to be true, and as her family, we owe her to be there and not shun her.” With everyone nodding their heads in agreement around the table, Molly had no choice but to agree. 

Not that it would make it any easier for Molly to accept now, Hermione mused. It was the Percy thing and the 4th year Rita Skeeter debacle all over again, and just thinking about it gave her a headache. 

“What about you?“ she asked hesitantly, desperate to stop talking about the Weasley Matriarch. 

“Me?“

“Well, they were both your friends too. This impacts you, as well.” Hermione reasoned.

Harry nodded. He, Gin and George spent quite a lot of time discussing that very thing the night prior while everyone else had been called away for the Dragon attack. Harry and Draco had become good friends during that last year. It had taken a lot of work and seemed so strange at first, but it had been refreshing. It also soothed his conscious about speaking up for him at his trial. Draco had been forced into many decisions and stripping away all the Pureblood pretense had shown Harry that Draco was precisely as Hermione had always thought him to be. Still a prat, but also Intelligent. Wity. Loyal. Afraid. And alone. 

The conversations between the two former enemies had been eye-opening, and healing, though Harry wasn't sure he'd admit that. He had come to realize that Draco was falling in love with Hermione a few months before Draco did. It had been funny to see them both become flustered and uncomfortable at the mention of the other. Draco's words sputtered and became unsure on the page and Hermione’s words while full of praise for the Slytherin, were also full of reluctance at her feelings. They were both confused, and Harry enjoyed not being the oblivious one for a change. 

Harry was as confused by his final letter from Draco as he was with anger over his letter to Hermione. That they were both played by the Slytherin left a bad taste in Harry’s mouth, and Ron was all too keen to play up on that - especially to Harry. 

Finally, Harry admitted that he was angry too, not because he lost his friend, so much as they had both lost several years with Draco.

“He would've been a groomsman at my wedding I suspect, and I think you'd be married to him by now,” he replied absently, his words causing Hermione to choke. Laughing, he patted her back. “Too soon?“

She nodded, feeling her face blush despite herself. “Way too soon,” Hermione coughed out, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “We haven't even talked about any of it yet, “ she informed him, clearing her throat absently before taking a sip of her coffee. “Well, not really. Just glanced over it.”

“But the chemistry is still there?“ asked Harry observing her.

She nodded. “Yes. Very much so.“

“It's a good place to start.”

“I hope so. “

He watched her for a minute, slowly sliding his arm around her shoulders and hugging her. “Love you, Mi.”

“I love you too, Harry.”

“So what should we do today?“

“I was going to go to the Hatchery if you want to come? I helped deliver some baby dragons the other day, and I wanted to check on them.“

“You did?!” exclaimed Harry, eyes wide.

“Yes! And it was amazing,” gushed Hermione. “Unlike everything I’ve ever experienced with magic. I wanted to see how big they were.”

“Well let's do that, “ Harry replied, standing up excitedly. “I’ve only got so much time to spend hanging out at a Dragon range. Let’s make the most of it.”

Laughing, Hermione agreed as she quickly drained her coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind and constructive comments are always welcome. Thank you for reading! xx


	20. Unexpected Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Harry make their way to the Hatchery, and discovery a familiar face inside. It's a rare moment of quiet and Hermione uses it to her full swotty advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Come with me on a journey of worldbuilding for your imagination. Perhaps not the groundbreaking Dramione chapter you were hoping for, but a little something to push the story forward and see all the work that goes into being a dragonologist._  
>  _as always, anything in the HP world belongs to JKR. It's her world, I just fill in the colors a bit._  
>  _xx the Wordsmith_

###  **Unexpected Lessons**

 

Hermione and Harry took the long way around from the housing area to the Hatchery. Usually, it would've been something they avoided - they tended to draw unwarranted attention everywhere they went just by the sheer shock of seeing the two War Heroes in public. But unlike England, no adoring fans or people were tripping all over themselves to shake their hands and thank them. Indeed if they were recognized by any of the residents they passed, no one did more than nod a polite hello and offer a smile in greeting. It was refreshing and relaxing for the two friends. And the freedom from the unwanted attention allowed them to talk, really talk, and catch up in a way they hadn't in quite some time. 

 

It also allowed Hermione to show Harry the Sanctuary since he'd never been there before, and show him just how big and unreal it was. 

 

“It feels bigger than London,” Harry remarked at one point, and Hermione nodded. 

 

The Sanctuary was a self-contained ecosystem of life and activity like London and Paris, but without the pretense and bustle. People at the Sanctuary only moved quickly when there was an emergency of some kind. Otherwise, everyone seemed content to walk, not quite mosey or shamble, but meander. 

 

It was something Hermione admired about the Sanctuary, and more so because they were so self-sufficient. She pointed out the schools as they left the housing area, where children began attending primary as young as four years old. The children weren't separated by blood or magical abilities here. Instead, parents could either send magical children to one of the dedicated European schools like Durmstrang or Beauxbatons or Dotatiludum in Rome, or they could continue their education on the Range - taking magical classes like transfiguration and charms as electives as they got older. It was a system Hermione admired, and yet another thing she wished was done in England.  They passed by the workshop where vehicles and brooms were serviced and maintained, and the large greenhouses that housed everything from their daily food to herbs for potions and medicines, and experimental plants. They circled past the dragon clinic, where ill and injured dragons were healed and nursed back to health, to the Dragon’s lair where she had found the library just the day before. 

 

“I bet you're miffed Charlie didn't mention that sooner, “ Harry supplied with a laugh, and Hermione stomped her foot in righteous anger since NO ONE told her that it existed until yesterday. “Probably saving themselves hours of headaches and being stuffed into a room full of books.” Harry mused with a chuckle. Hermione hit him and called him a prat and then continued touring around. Resisting the urge to go back and explore the Castle Memorial Draco pointed out the day before - her mind still turning curiously over who lost that he had been unable to talk to her about just yet.

 

It was easier to resist the urge to go into the Potions lab or the medical center, knowing full well there was nothing she’d be allowed to do at the moment, and that everything would be waiting for her when she returned to work in two days. Finally, they made their way around to the far side of where they began, having walked and casually explored for well over an hour, before passing the nursery to enter the hatchery. 

 

oOoOo

 

Hermione was surprised to step into the Hatchery and see Theo preparing the same puppet head  Draco used to feed the baby dragons the night they were born.

 

“Hey, Theo, can we help you at all? “ she asked, crossing to him. 

 

“Hey, Pages. I'd say yes, but I don't have any hands to teach you what I need.”

 

“I was here when they were born if that helps you. Draco taught me the warming spell, and I saw the way Charlie poured the potions in.”

 

“Well, in that case, step right up.”

 

Hermione gave a little giggle as if she was approaching a game table at the fair. “You here to help too Potter? Or are you just here to look pretty?” queried Theo, his hands still working on gathering the supplies needed to feed the dragons.

 

Hermione gaped at the teasing and flirtatious tone she heard Theo use, and her eyes went wide as she noticed Harry go pink across the cheeks. 

 

"I can help," Harry finally managed to say, his eyes flitting from Theo’s face to his hands, before he rubbed absently at his neck. Hermione eyed him suspiciously and made a mental note to find out what that was all about later. 

 

"How were you going to do this alone, Theo?" she found herself asking as she mixed the repulsive potion combination Charlie made the other night. 

 

"You don't want to know Pages," replied Theo with a chuckle as he directed her to add a few more vials of potions that sat beside the tube rack. 

 

"That shit smells disgusting," added Harry, wrinkling his nose against the smell. Hermione and Theo both laughed. Hermione instructed Harry to levitate the mixture with the funnel next to Theo’s head. 

 

“Don't spill any on me, Potter. It takes a month to get that smell out of your nose once it's on your skin - even with magic!" admonished Theo, watching the pitcher levitate unsteadily near where he perched on the ladder.

 

"Ugh, no thanks."

 

"Learn that from personal experience, have you, Theo?" 

 

Theo nodded. "Drake’s first month in the nursery. We had two back to back go, and he somehow managed to get bit by a Horntail and knocked a whole jug on both of us. I was going to kill him."

 

"Well, at least it wasn't on purpose."

 

"No, that was the second time he spilled it on me," groused Theo, carefully lining the Dragon head on his shoulder and nodding to Harry to begin to pour the mixture in “Slowly Potter, or I’ll aim this mess at you and add in some flames for good measure.”

 

Hermione giggled at Theo’s threat, “Note to self don't piss off a handler feeding a baby dragon.”

 

“Got it,” replied Harry, a smile tugging at his lips as he tried to watch and hold the potion steady near Theo’s head.

 

“Alright, ready?” 

 

Hermione practiced the spell for Theo, and he nodded his head in approval. Commenting on how he expected nothing less from her before giving Harry more shit about his aim and spell work, "And they left you in charge of our security. Salazar save us." 

 

"Hey, I think I'm the one that did that. Twice. Not Salazar Slytherin,” grumbled Harry in response, pouring the mixture a bit to fast into the funnel, causing some to spill out towards himself. Hermione chuckled, noting that he managed to spill some of the potions on himself, and Theo and Hermione thanked their stars for moving out of the way just as he did. 

 

Thankfully it was the only spill, and the three set to work, Theo directing them from above. It wasn’t as smooth as when Draco, Phee, and Charlie did it, but Hermione thought they weren’t half bad. Hermione found the process just as fascinating the second time as it was the first, and Harry seemed memorized as he watched Theo transfer the foul-smelling mixture from the dragon’s head into the waiting mouths of the babies. 

 

When they finished, Hermione introduced Harry to the dragon she helped birth and name, pride evident in her voice. 

 

“Oh, you're a goner,” said Theo cleaning everything up with a wave of his wand.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“The way you're talking. You're a goner.” 

 

“Charlie basically said the same thing about the look on my face after Dawn was born.”

 

Theo chuckled. “Oh yeah, talking about your dragon-like they're your child, You're one of us now, Pages.” Hermione beamed as he bumped her shoulder with his own. 

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Theo.”

"As they were meant," stated Theo matter of factly before showing her how to sign up for occasional shifts. “You can’t ever take a shift solo, but as long as one of us is here, feel free. Once you’re more trained up, you could probably take a watch of your own, but until then - safety first.”

 

Hermione nodded, her eyes finally drifting around the rest of the room. “Theo, can you explain the rest of the hatchery to us?”

 

Theo grinned, silently wondering how long it would take before she transferred to Dragons before launching into the explanation of the room they were in — pointing out different areas for the various ages of Dragons. They were standing next to the beds where hatchlings under a month were kept, then moved to the individual environments for the growing dragons. 

 

“It's like you support them from babies into toddlers.”

 

“It's not far off,” agreed Theo. “Believe it or not, most dragons don't breathe fire for several months after they are born, and until they do that, they are incredibly vulnerable to attacks. The hardest part for us is teaching them some of the basic dragon skills they'd get from a parent - things like hunting or flying. So we have to work a careful balance of nature vs. nurture and getting them out into their habitats and freedoms without them becoming too dependent upon us.” 

 

“That makes so much sense.” 

 

“How long before these guys will move into their habitat enclosure?”

 

“Most babies move to the next stage after the first month. On the rare occasion of illness or injury, we may keep them longer.”

Hermione nodded before, looking around the room. Noting the long row of enclosures on the opposite wall that she hadn’t noticed before. “And which one will they move into?” 

“That one over there,” replied Theo pointing to an enclosure that looked to be roughly 20 x 30 feet. Hermione could make out a den within the pen as well as lamps that she knew would activate to mimic the weather outside. The enclosures, spelled with 24 hours a day bulbs, followed the pattern of the sun and moon. “Opaleyes live in valleys, so the enclosure here begins that way. It will magically expand as they grow. Giving them more space and land to fly in, and we’ll slowly begin to leave small animals for them to hunt versus leaving food for them or feeding them ourselves as they get older and stronger. We help them as much as we can for the first month in the nursery, and the first month they are in the enclosure. Then we begin to work on building their skill set, much like a parent would. It’s tough. Most dragons are not social creatures and are fairly solitary. Being enclosed together like this isn’t natural for them.”

 

“How would they be in the wild then if they were brought up by their mother?” asked Harry, stepping closer to Theo as he peered into space.

 

“Believe it or not, she would separate them after the first couple of months. Creating space for each of them, and then she would divide her time with them. Sometimes being gone from them for weeks at a time, depending on how many she had.” 

 

Hermione’s mouth gaped. “That’s crazy! What happens to them at that time?”

 

“They spend a lot of time in their dens. They will have food and water and will begin to learn the cycle of days, as well as how to stretch their wings. She’ll take them together from time to time to teach them to hunt or fly or breathe their fire, but it depends on the sex of the dragon and individual temperaments. Some will be abandoned or will leave their den and make their own way or die.”

 

“That’s awful!” groused Hermione, her thoughts suddenly clouding with Dawn starving in a cave all alone.

 

Theo shrugged. “It’s the way of nature, Pages. We may not understand it or agree with it, but we are not dragons. We are researchers and caregivers. We can help them succeed, but not all dragons do. We would be overrun if every dragon birthed here survived, and if every dragon survived in nature, much worse things could happen.” 

 

“Dragon Wars,” interjected Harry.

 

“Amongst other things, including ice ages or overhunting of food supplies.”

 

“What do you do with the dragons that don’t make it?” asked Hermione softly. 

 

Theo eyed her carefully, remembering her tender heart for magical creatures, and her wayward thinking about house-elves. “Any number of things,” he replied steadily. “We may use them as cadavers attempting to understand more about the dragon's physiology; depending on the dragon’s condition, they may be used as potion ingredients or for resources such as dragonhide or even wand cores.”

 

“A part of me feels like that’s so barbaric,” admitted Hermione.

 

“Or you could see it as humane,” added Harry thoughtfully. Theo nodded at his words, giving the wizard a knowing smile before turning his attention back to Hermione. “Think about it, Pages. Would you rather dragons be hunted and killed for those purposes? Dragon meat is a favorite of Goblins, and they're hunted for feasts as a result. A baby dragon is like a baby calf to humans - a delicacy. Would you prefer if these babies were poached for a feast? Or allow us to harvest them for research and spread the ingredients to buyers to prevent poaching?

 

“Well, when you put it that way…” Hermione began looking from habitat to habitat and then back to her already beloved Dawn.

 

“I put it that way, Pages. For better or worse, Dragons are considered dangerous and life-threatening to humans. The ministry may have some strict rules regarding them now, but they didn’t always, and the fact remains that we are dependent upon them for certain things - like Dragonheart strings for wand core. It’s literally one of the top three cores Ollivander uses. There are very few safe ways to remove Dragonheart strings without killing or endangering the animal. One of the things that we do here is help provide those cores in a safe way - that negates the need to kill as many animals. Think of us as farmers or ranchers. They butcher a cow and uses the entire thing - snout to tail. You don’t often think about where you’re beef comes from or your milk for that matter. But there are uses for more than just those two things, and knowing when to kill the animal and how to use as much of it as possible, gives that animal’s life and subsequent death more meaning. It’s wasteful only to cut a few steaks from a cow, but at one time, Dragons were hunted down and used only for their hide or their heartstrings. Do you have any idea how many longhorns were murdered for their horns for one stupid potion? Tens of thousands before someone stepped in to protect them.”

 

“I guess I didn’t realize how in-depth being a Dragonologist was, and how all-encompassing it was to a Dragon’s protection.” 

 

Harry snorted as Theo laughed. “Well, on that we can agree. I never thought I’d fall in love with these overgrown lizards, but I understand them a lot more now.”

 

“You care for them,” marveled Harry.

 

“I do. It’s hard to be a Dragonologist and not love them,” Theo added thoughtfully, not making eye contact with either Harry or Hermione. 

 

Now it was Hermione who snorted. “So how long before they are moved out of these enclosures and released back into their habitat?”

 

Theo smiled at the way she brought the conversation back around and absently rubbed his bicep where his armor tattoo lay, “Once the enclosure reaches  20x the size it is now, we’ll begin the process of reintegration into the actual habitat here.”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened at the idea of the enclosure growing so large. Her mind was silently reeling at the thought of the magic involved. “Is it an easy transition for them?” asked Harry, noting the look of contemplation on Hermione’s face. No doubt she was trying to figure out the spells required to perform such an impressive feat of magic. 

 

Theo sighed.” Sometimes. They are still wild animals in captivity, and sometimes that works, and sometimes it doesn’t.” 

 

Hermione nodded, glancing at the other enclosures, noticing for the first time the shimmering of wards around the entrances. She was about to ask if there were any “toddlers” in the pens surrounded them when she noticed Theo rub his arm again.

 

“Are you okay, Theo? You’re paying a lot of attention to that arm.” her tone immediately turning professional as she eyed him critically.

 

Theo sighed and nodded, dropping his arm subconsciously as a blush graced his cheeks. “Yeah. Just some new ink. The skin’s tight. I need to get some more salve for it.”

 

“Oh! On your armor tattoo?” Theo gave her a wary look but nodded anyway. “Can I see it?”

 

“Why Pages I had no idea you were so keen to get my shirt off,” he replied as he waggled his eyebrows at her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
>  _A/N_   
>  **   
>  _Thank you for reading loves and Happy New Year wherever you are. Comments and kudos are always welcome. Many blessings for 2020._
> 
>  
> 
> _See you with more Dragons and Dramione in the New Year!_
> 
>  
> 
> _xx the Wordsmith_


	21. Fiery Toddlers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized after I posted the last chapter, that I had posted nearly 200,000 words this year and had almost 25,000 hits, as we are at the end of the year, nay the end of the decade, I decided that I wanted to celebrate this huge accomplishment with a bonus chapter. So in honor of unexpected achievements and more love and acceptance for my work than I ever expected to receive, I busted out a new chapter for you guys.
> 
> My regular reminders of I'm not JKR, I don't make any money, I'm just writing for the love of it and own nothing, but the grammar errors and plot points all apply. 
> 
> Also for this chapter words in **bold** are conversations in **French** and words in **_italics_** are in **_Romanian._**
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> xx the Wordsmith

###  **Fiery Toddlers**

 

Hermione wasn’t sure how it happened that she didn’t get to see Theo’s armor tattoo, but she had a funny feeling it had to do with Harry. She was most assuredly going to be having a conversation with her so-called best friend when they got back to her house later that night. Still, for now, she played it stupid, not commenting as Theo changed the subject with a none too subtle, “So you guys want to see what happens out there?” Harry had been all too eager and turned wide eyes to Hermione and all but begged: “Can we go, Mia, please?” 

 

Hermione laughed. “Why are you asking me? It’s my day off. Talk to your boyfriend.” She noted the way Harry flushed clear to his hairline, and Theo shuffled his feet as he ran his hand through his hair. “I just thought, maybe we’d have to take brooms,” stammered Harry finally. 

 

“Naw, we can go lots of places without them, but if you want when we’re done, you and I can go out for a quick ride without Pages.” 

 

Hermione watched, not thinking it was possible for both men to blush further still, and swore to figure out whatever this was sooner rather than later. “Lead the way, Theo,” she stated, finally sick of watching them both try and figure out how to avoid eye contact and be in the same space of each other. “If it’s safe, of course.”

 

“Oh yeah, like I’m going to be the nutter responsible for injuring two-thirds of the Golden Trio,” scoffed Theo in response, opening the door for the three of them to exist the hatchery. 

 

oOoOo

 

An hour later, the three of them found themselves in the observation balcony at the Dragon infirmary on the other side of the Sanctuary. Theo had shown them a few of the injured dragons from the previous days incident an alarm went off around them. “That’s the warning system,” Theo told them a matter of factly, moving them out of the way of active-duty personnel. “They’re bringing in the fresh injury.” 

Theo continued to maneuver them out of the way of trainers and healers as they ran by while navigating them to the observation deck over the sizeable open platform where the injury would be arriving. 

“Do you need to go to help?” Hermione asked, observing the flurry of activity.

“Depends on the breed. There are a lot of similarities, but you can still injure a dragon if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

****  
  


“How so?” asked Harry, pushing his glasses back on his face. “I thought a dragon was a dragon.”

“Would you trust a teeth healer to perform surgery on your heart?”  Harry blanched at the question. “It’s like that,” replied Theo with a shrug, his eyes lifted towards the sky where the roofline opened to allow the dragon to be lowered down into the bay.  “An injured Opaleye, I can help with. I know the quirks of the breed and can say for a certainty how large and where the organs should be. But if you bring in a horntail? I might cause more damage by treating it like an Opaleye. If it needs to be cold and I give it heat? If I don’t make the sedative strong or too strong.” Theo shook his head. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Just like you wouldn’t see a tooth healer if you have a heart issue,” added Hermione.

Theo nodded.  “We all have our breeds we’re Masters in, and a few we are Specialists in. Very few of us can do it all.”

“Is that why Portia is called a Grand Master?”

Theo nodded again. “Yes, Portia is a Grand Master because she knows everything there is to know about every breed that there is. There are maybe four or five Grand Masters in the entire world.”

“And we have one?” asked Hermione excitedly. 

“Yes. though if Drake has his way, it’ll be two sooner rather than later.” 

Hermione felt her pulse quicken at the idea of Draco as a Grand Master Dragonologist. Even from the little she had seen him working with the animals, she knew how passionate he was about them. Not to mention how diligent he had been in school. She could easily see him taking on the mantle of Grand Master from his Aunt one day. 

“Of course, that turns you on,” tsked Theo watching Hermione’s face. 

“Shall we discuss what turns you on?” countered Hermione with a quirk of her eyebrow, her gaze purposefully drifting to Harry’s back. 

Theo stammered and blushed for a moment before he coughed and pointed to the sky with a “Look here they come.”  Hermione mentally congratulated herself before shielding her eyes as she looked up into the air, where a giant dragon was currently being lowered down. 

Riders surrounded the dragon on brooms, and as they lowered down, Hermione became instantly aware of two very distinct hair colors. Weasley red and Black platinum Blonde. Clamping a hand over her mouth, Hermione took a step back and found herself engulfed in Harry’s arms. “It’s okay, Mi,” her best friend whispered to her. 

Hermione could only nod. She dared not speak as each figure became more evident in its entirety. She could easily see a new burn on Charlie’s arm, and she was suddenly terrified of distracting the riders as they came in. 

It is evident within her next breath that Draco was in charge of the situation and that the Dragon within their ropes was unconscious. Hand gestures and series of whistles could be seen and heard as the massive dragon continued to lower through the hole in the ceiling and into the transfigured put below. Hermione and Harry watched, transfixed by the flurry of activity set that immediately set to work once the dragon touched down to the ground. Draco’s voice carried clearly up to them as he began to explain what the breed was, the nature of its injuries, and where it was located.

Around them, more healers and trainers were approaching the unconscious Ukrainian Ironbelly. Some carried medicines, and others levitated more ropes around the Dragon to secure it. A part of the Dragon’s tail was levitated into view, and Hermione could see a deep laceration on its belly and tail as they lined the two together to get a better picture of what happened. Hermione just made out the words “Unprecedented attack” when the world went pear-shaped below them. 

Three healers had lined several vials up near the Dragon’s mouth, as three others stood with their wands at the ready near the belly. It appeared that they were attempting to give the Dragon some medicine or pain relief potion before they tried to clean the wound when suddenly a trainer near Charlie lost control of his rope and ran into the Dragon’s wing. Suddenly the Dragon roared, and fire was billowing out of its mouth. Hermione’s scream was lost in the crowds as several others let loose with cries of their own. Healers and trainers were dodging flailing limbs, tail, and fire as they worked to sedate and soothe the angry beast in front of them.

All the trainers that are, except Draco. 

Draco who was now surrounded by fire. 

Hermione’s eyes were as wide as saucers as she took in the man she had only just reconnected with covered in the scorching red flames that matched the eyes of the dragon on the floor. And yet, Draco was not shrinking back. He walked towards the Dragon, his arm extended in front of him like a shield, and as the Dragon took a breath, Hermione heard his voice soft and soothing clearly. She had no idea what words he was saying, if they were a spell or lullaby, in English or Romanian or Latin, but whatever they were, it seemed to be soothing the dragon slightly. It’s fire coming out in less massive streams of billowing fire and more like slow little puffs of smoke. Hermione gasped as Draco’s hand extended just above the Dragon’s snout to press a firm hand to its scales. Instantly, the Dragon began to whimper, and Draco’s voice took on a comforting tone. 

With a flick of his wrist, Draco summoned the vials the healers had been attempting to put into the Dragon’s mouth. Hermione strained against Harry to hear what Draco was saying, worried that parts of him were still on fire. “Is he talking to the Dragon?” she heard Harry ask behind her. Scared to take her eyes off of Draco even for a moment, she inclined her head towards Theo, hoping he would answer the question. 

Theo nodded. “Drake has a special talent with some of the breeds. The Opaleyes are his real connection, but the Ironbellies, Longhorns, and Horntails all seem to respond to him in the same way and know what he’s saying.”

“And what is this one?” asked Harry. 

“It’s an Ironbelly,” Hermoine and Theo answered simultaneously. 

Hermione tried to process this information as she watched the Dragon open its snout for Draco, and he poured the vials in. He patted the Dragon’s nose, and with another series of hand gestures, the Dragon’s body was secured once again the platform, and the healers and trainers moved in. It was only when the Dragon’s breaths became deep, and even that Draco removed his hand from its large scale body, and stepped back to put the flames still aglow on his body out. When the final flame went out, Hermione felt herself take a deep breath. She had no idea when she had stopped breathing, but she gasped now, trying to regulate her breathing. 

Around the dragon, a myriad of people set to work, but Hermione only had eyes for one platinum-haired healer, whose body was covered in a plate metal armor she’d never seen before. Turning her wide eyes to Theo, she only asked one thing, “The tattoo?”

Theo nodded, not at all surprised she had put it together. “It offers us protection. Different training for different breeds, different masteries different protection. Drake’s tattoo makes him impervious to some fire or the temperatures of some others. He can still be burned by some, depending on the location, and the rest.” He shifted his gaze from Hermione and Harry back towards the pit. “It’s complicated,” he finally said with a sigh. 

 

“Gotta love magic,” Harry chuckled, trying to lighten the situation. His arms finally relaxed from around Hermione's body slightly, and she took a step forward, Her movement finally registered to some of the people on the floor, and she smiled tentatively as Charlie looked up and waved at her. She waved back to him after a moment’s hesitation and then turned her eyes back to the head of the dragon. Her chocolate eyes searched him, even from that distance, for injury. 

As if feeling, her eyes upon him, Draco looked up. Hermione didn’t flinch back at the sight of him, covered in soot and ash, his face and features partially covered by the armor that had activated from his tattoo. Looking at him, Hermione felt as if she was staring at a knight from old. She wished desperately that she knew the hand signals that Draco had used moments before so she could ask him if he was okay. He looked okay, but her healer mind was dying to scan him to assure herself that he had stood toe to toe with a dragon breathing fire on him and was known the worse for wear. She watched him for another moment, aware of the conversation continuing behind her between Theo and Harry, and gasped when Draco suddenly disappeared from his sight only to reappear next to her on the observation deck. 

Hermione shrieked and stepped back before moving to smack him. Draco deftly grasped her wrist in his hand before she could make contact with his armor.  **“Don’t, Mi. You’ll hurt yourself if you connect with the armor.”**

 

Hermione swallowed suddenly and nodded.  **“Are you okay?”**

 

**“I’m fine, kitten. I promise.”**

 

**“That dragon was breathing fire at you, Draco, and you just - just walked towards it.”**

 

Draco gave her a low chuckle,  **“That’s part of my job, love.”**

 

**“Not to walk to a Dragon shooting flames at you!”**

 

**“Not all Dragons no, but I’m protected with Ironbellies, kitten. See?”** Draco extended his arm before locking into a 90-degree angle in front of his body. A ripple of magic wove through the air, radiating out from his forearm. Hermione watched as the armor around Draco’s arm bent and extended, suddenly going from the top of his head to the floor, curving slightly to protect his body on either side. Hermione resisted the urge to reach her hand forward to touch the armor and shield, recalling Draco’s warning from moments ago.

 

Her eyes flicked back to his, **“But that fire looked so hot, though. Are you burned anywhere?”**

 

**“The shield absorbs most of the fire. That’s why I didn’t want you to touch it because it could still burn you, but no, it doesn’t burn me. The magic in the armor bears the brunt of it, and the dragonhide leathers protect my skin.”**

 

**“Are you okay, though? Really Okay?”** her voice was small, and he could see the way she was wringing her hands in nervously.

 

Looking in her eyes, Draco was surprised by the fear he saw there. The worry that danced amongst the fascination and questions that he knew were buzzing through her brain. How long had it been since someone had looked at Draco that way? True, he had his aunts and Phee, Theo, and his fellow trainers. Fear was a constant companion when dealing with a wild animal such as a Dragon, but there was something different in the way Hermione was gazing at him now. 

 

Feeling the need to reassure her physically, Draco closed his eyes and lowered his arm. Centering his magic to his core, Draco felt his armor sliding back from his face and his neck, followed by his chest plate, hand, wrist, and lower arms, until Draco stood in front of her, in his Dragonhide leathers.  Opening his eyes, Draco gave her a soft smile.  **“See, one-piece kitten.”**

 

Without consideration for their location or who could be watching them,  Hermione launched herself at Draco, wrapping him in her arms and holding him tightly.  **“I just got you back. I couldn’t lose you already,”** she sobbed into his shoulder

 

**“Shhhh, shhh. Its okay, Kitten,”** soothed Draco wrapping his arms around her body, his magic comforting her just as his words were.  Holding her tightly, Draco relished the feeling of her body pressed against his as he continued to speak,  **“I promise you. I was perfectly safe with Yana. She was just scared is all. It’s a natural reaction to being indoors, especially when injured** .”

 

Hermione stepped back. “Yana?”

 

Draco gave her a smirk before replying in English. “Yes, that’s Yana, the Ukranian Ironbelly,” he indicated down to the floor where several dozen people were continuing to work on the injured.  

 

“She’s huge.”

 

“She’s only a baby.”

 

“That’s only a baby?” scoffed Hermione.

 

“Okay. Well, a toddler. She’s just over two years old. We have to wait for the official count, but she was just over four tons and 42 feet the last time we saw her.”

 

“And that’s a toddler!”

 

“Ironbellies are the largest breed of Dragon, Kitten. She can grow up to six tons and over 60 feet.”

behind them, Harry whistled. “She’s a beauty.”

 

“Her scales are as strong as steel,” noted Theo. “She’s a tough girl.”

 

“That was an impressive magic trick,” remarked Harry offering Draco his hand. 

 

Draco shifted Hermione in his arms, not letting go of his hold of her against his body by holding her at the waist while he accepted Potter’s hand with his other arm. “Magical armor has its benefits.”

 

“Is that what yours does?” asked Harry turning to Theo. 

 

Theo shrugged. “It’s similar, but DB’s is stronger, and my shield dispells the fire while his absorbs.”

 

“Why the difference?”

 

“Masteries, and experience mostly,” voiced Draco quickly, his eyes flitting to Theo’s in a silent request. 

 

“Mostly,” confirmed Theo with a slow nod and a shrug. “She took quite the hit,” he added, steering the conversation back towards the dragon.

 

“Dead male not far from her.”

 

“Territory battle? Mating show?”

 

“We didn’t see any other males in the area, but I’m guessing it was a fight to mate with her. She just got caught in the wrong spot.”

 

Theo nodded, glancing back out at the pit below. “I was going to take Potter on a flight around the edge. Show him some of the rest of the reserve.”

 

“You can take him over the valley towards the west range, but stay away from the East Lake for now.” Draco gave his friend a hard stare, and Theo gave him a small shake of his head.

 

“Yeah, that sounds good. Pages here was interested in the Hatchery schedule if you want to walk her through picking up a shift or two.”

 

Draco lifted an eyebrow as his gaze drifted from his friend to the girl in his arms. Hermione dropped her eyes and blushed prettily. “We went back to check on the hatchlings this morning. See how they were doing.”

 

“You really are a goner, aren’t you?” Draco asked with a low chuckle.

 

“What? They’re cute!”

 

All three guys chuckled around her. “That’s a class five creature you called cute Kitten.”

 

“DB!” Draco gazed down to see Charlie signing to him, and signed back before turning to Hermione. “Give me a few minutes, and I can walk you back?”

 

Hermione nodded, biting her bottom lip. “That sounds good.”

 

Draco squeezed her waist before letting her go to shake Harry’s hand. “I’ll see you later, Potter.”

 

Harry nodded, moving in to hug Hermione as Draco clasped Theo’s forearm with his hand.  **_“You will tell me what you’re up to later,”_ ** he told Theo matter of factly in Romanian as he pulled his friend slightly away from the other two. 

 

Theo side, returning the forearm shake all handlers used. **_“I think you’re girl is a whisperer.”_**

 

Draco lifted an eyebrow and nodded. **_“Don’t change the subject.”_**

 

**_“He’s married.”_ **

 

**_“Theodore.”_ **

 

**_“It was a long time ago, Drake. Let it go.”_ **

 

**_“I don't want to see you get hurt again.”_ **

 

**_“We can’t all have our happily ever afters, Drake.”_ **

 

Draco eyed his friend tentatively before letting his arm go.  **_“It doesn’t mean that you won’t still get one of your own.”_ **

 

“Piss off,” replied Theo, good-naturedly shoving his friend before pushing Harry towards the door, both men giving Hermione a little wave as they left.

 

“What was that about?” asked Hermione as Draco approached her again. 

 

“Work.”

 

“Liar.” 

 

The corner of Draco’s lips curved up involuntarily. “You’ll be alright up here for a bit?”

 

“Of course, I will. I can stay out of trouble and observe.”

 

“Famous last words, kitten.”

 

“Har har.”

 

Leaning in, Draco kissed her on the cheek.  **“Just a few minutes, Kitten.”**

 

**“Be safe, please,”** insisted Hermione. 

 

**“Always,”** Draco reassured her with a smirk. Tossing a wink over his shoulder at her before disapparating with a soft pop to the floor below.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N Thanks for an amazing year of support, comments, kudos, and friendship! Wishing you all the best in the New Year!_
> 
>  
> 
> _**For my fellow writers: May your ideas continue to flow, May your Muses never leave you, May your characters behave, and May your reviews always be kind.** _
> 
> _Happy 2020 Loves!_  
>  xx the Wordsmith


	22. Temptations and Tempers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh um hi! It's been a while... my plate has been super full as of late, and RL am I, right? Like okay 2020, you can stop now! Phew. And since I, like many others, am currently home right now on self-quarantine/lockdown, I'm turning my attention back to my full WIP plate and trying to coax my muse into helping me knock out a few stories that are close to completion. This story *should* be wrapped up fully by month's end, so if you've been faithfully sticking with me - THANK YOU. It really means the world to me that people read my work and care about my take on these amazing characters. 
> 
> Reminder **bold** words are in **French.**
> 
> As always, not my sandbox, I just build in it, and I hope this update finds you safe, healthy and AT HOME unless you are one of those amazing essential people on the front lines working to protect us. THANK YOU just isn't enough to say to you.
> 
> Grammarly is my beta, and all plot and errors are mine. Until next time,  
> xx The Wordsmith

co "Dragonology Master: Antipodean Opaleye, Eggs, Hatchery; Dragonology Specialist: Romanian Longhorn, Ukrainian Ironbelly, Hungarian Horntail; Potions Master; Herbology Specialist: Potions; R+D Specialist: Dragon Preservation, Magical Alternatives, Vanguard; Healer Specialist: Dragon; Healer Apprentice." She stared at the paper in her hand. 

 

She had waited 15 more minutes for Draco to finish tending to the injured dragon. Hermione's mind was running a mile a minute with questions as she watched the handlers and medics work together. None of the questions in her mind were more pressing than what the hell had happened with Draco's tattoo/armor, but that question was quickly pushed to the background as she watched him work. She had wondered about his experience, his training. She noticed several people default to him before proceeding one way or another, and it had left her in awe. When she asked about it, Draco had called another elf to him and asked for his credential sheet. 

 

A moment later, she held a document in her hand with Draco's bio. "We use it for research grants and proposals or for when we need to confer with other ranges around the world. It's important to know who you're working with and understand just who's life you're putting yourself into if we were to work together on a mission or the like." Hermione had nodded, knowing he made a great deal of sense, but the amount he had accomplished in such a short amount of time had left her breathless. "Of course that turns you on," he joked. 

 

"That's an incredible number of titles in a relatively short amount of time." The disbelief in her voice was unmistakable. The awe she felt was apparent across her face as she looked at the documentation in her hands. 

 

He merely shrugged, feeling what he had done wasn't worthy of either shock or awe by her. "Yeah. Well. It's amazing how many things you can get done when people think you're dead."

 

"That's not funny, Draco."

"It wasn't meant to be, Hermione."

 

"I thought you were dead," she whispered.

 

His voice was just as quiet when he spoke: "I might as well have been." His voice was resigned. Sad. He couldn't bring himself to look at her then. He wasn't sure what he would see, or worse what she would.

 

"Ron." She affirmed. "You knew." It was a statement and not a question—a shocked one at that.

 

The irony of it wasn't lost on him, "You were splashed all over the Prophet together. Of course, I knew. Everyone knew. The Golden Girl and her Ginger Hero." He practically spat the last part out. He couldn't help it. It was still bitter on his tongue.

 

"Draco-"

 

"Don't, Granger," he interjected, cutting her off immediately with his words and his hand. "You don't owe me an explanation. Besides, we know the truth now."

 

Shoving his hands in his pocket, Draco leaned against the railing on the deck outside of Hermione's house on the range. He had hated to see those headlines. They had taunted him daily for months, seeing her smiling and laughing and unattainable. He had resented Ron for giving her all the things he couldn't, but he had been thankful to see her smiling again. She deserved it after all she had endured.

 

"That's why I'm here, you know," her words pulling him out of his reverie as she settled against the railing by him. He lifted his head from the ground and met her eyes. Raising an eyebrow in confusion. "Ron."

 

"Don't tell me he cocked it up." She snorted at his word choice. "How bad?"

 

"Bad. Surprised you didn't see that in the Prophet. It was why I came here in the first place. To get away from the headlines."

 

"I don't get the Prophet here anymore. And I've got a fairly good system in place to prevent me from hearing certain news from home." Hermione stared at him in confusion, but it wasn't something he wanted to elaborate on. Instead, Draco apologized to her. Adding that he thought she had found the happiness she deserved. "Well, you know eventually," he said, alluding to the letters he had written and not sent, and the pain she had been reading in his journals. Hermione nodded. 

 

"This whole situation is just so fucked up," Draco snorted, thinking of what an understatement that was. "I was happy," she finally admitted with a sigh. "Mostly."

 

"Mostly?" he queried.

 

Sighing again, she crossed her arms across her chest. "It was complicated."

 

"Of course, it was."

 

She couldn't stop the smile that played at her lips. "Are you saying I'm complicated, Malfoy?"

 

"I'd never call you that, Granger. Complex, maybe, but never complicated."

 

"Prat," she concluded, smacking his arm.

 

"Still violent, I see," he deadpanned, absently rubbing the spot she hit.

 

"Only when it's warranted."

 

They were both leaning against the railing now. Their bodies close but not touching. Draco could feel the heat from her skin and smell her perfume. The combination of parchment, lavender, and honey overwhelming him. He recalled her mention of new shampoo back at the lair and decided he was fond of it.

 

"I really missed you, Granger." He said softly, looking at his boots.

 

Her heart quickened at his words, and she couldn't help the involuntary smile that sprang to her lips at his words.

 

"I missed you too." She replied quietly. Waiting for his eyes to meet her before she added. "Every day."

 

"So are we better then?" he asked, bumping her shoulder with his.

 

Taking a deep breath, she turned her gaze down to her shoes. "I guess that depends."

 

"On?"

 

"On whether or not you're going to kiss me," she answered. A smile played at her lips as Draco's eyes sought hers, causing a broad smile to flash across his face. A mischievous twinkle danced in Hermione's eyes, turning them from deep chocolate to a honeyed amber.

 

"And if I do?" he countered, his body shifting slightly closer to hers.

 

She shrugged. "Then, I'd consider it."

 

"Only consider it?"

 

"Depends on the kiss, I suppose."

 

"Guess that means I should make it a good one."

 

"I reckon so." Her confidence made his breath hitch. This was the woman that haunted his dreams, and that no one else had been able to compare to over the last few years.

 

He could see her pulse thumping in her throat, and he longed to place a kiss to that spot. To nip and suck it and see if it still had the power to make her moan. His eyes moved to her face, to the full lips that looked as soft and supple as they had years ago. They parted now, as her tongue shot out to lick her lips in anticipation. He felt a predatory smile slide over his face as his eyes met hers, and he saw her eyes flick to his lips and back again. Her eyes fluttered closed in breathless anticipation as his lips drew near hers. He brushed his lips against hers tentatively. Once. Twice, and as he pulled back slightly, he caught her body leaning into him. It was all the encouragement he needed. Sliding his hand up her neck, Draco cupped her face, his other arm wrapping around Hermione, pulling her body to his, as his lips pressed firmly against hers. The moan that escaped her lips gave him entry to her mouth, and his tongue plunged into her mouth with reckless abandon, tasting her as he did. Her hands slid up his chest to intertwine at the nape of his neck.

 

Draco groaned at the feel of her body pressed against his. Her softness was molding itself into every bit of his hardened body. It was so much more than the hug they had shared the other day. "Missed you so much," he muttered between kisses, his lips drifting down her skin to her jaw and towards her ear. "You feel so good."

 

"Hermione are you—"

 

Hermione and Draco jumped back quickly from each other. "Oh, sorry," came a stammered voice.

 

Hermione recovered quickly, "It's okay. Was there something you needed, Ginny?"

 

"I was looking for Harry. I thought you were with him."

 

"Oh, yes! Of course! We ran into Draco and Th-"

 

Draco cut her off, "Some of the other trainers while we were bringing in an injured dragon." Hermione eyed him skeptically, trying to figure out why he had cut in, but he shook his head minutely at her.

 

"OH! Is everything okay?" asked Ginny.

 

"Fine!" proclaimed Draco and Hermione simultaneously. Hermione met his eyes and giggled. "They were all fine. It was awe-inspiring to watch."

 

"And Harry was with you?"

 

"Yeah," Hermione's eyes darted towards Draco, "One of the trainers offered to guide him around the range on a broom. And you know me."

 

Ginny laughed. "Yeah, no wonder you passed."

 

"If you give us a minute, though, I can call around and see where he is - redirect him back here."

 

"Oh yeah. Um. I'll go wait over there?" Ginny pointed to the opposite side of the deck and making sure she put her back to them. 

 

"Well, that was awkward," murmured Hermione adjusting her shirt. 

 

"Oh, I don't know. I thought it felt pretty natural." His wink made her blush and she promptly smacked his arm again as she muttered prat under her breath. "I thought we were past the violence witch." She laughed softly as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to his body. "Are we good, Mi?"

 

"Yes," she whispered, nuzzling her face nose into his neck.

 

"Can I see you later?"

 

A sad smile lit her face, "I'd like that."

 

"Late dinner?" She nodded. "I'll come to get you around 8, okay?" she nodded again. Her lips were seeking his once more. He pulled her closer, nibbling on her lower lip and eliciting another moan from her.

 

"Hermione?"

 

She groaned as he laughed. "Go on, Mi."

 

"I'll see you later?" he saw the hesitancy in her face, and he gave her a reassuring smile as he nodded. Kissing her hand, he pushed off the railing before he was tempted to pick up where they left off.

 

As he approached the opening at the back of her deck, he gave Hermione one last wink before calling out, "BYE Ginny!" Hermione giggled as she heard Ginny yell back a goodbye before the redhead turned to rejoin her friend, wiggling her eyebrows teasingly.

 

Draco paused as he stepped off the deck and came face to face with Harry and Theo. Placing his hand up, he cut them off before either of them spoke. Turning slightly, back to the deck, he yelled, "I'll call the trainers Ginny and send Harry back to you shortly." He met the wide eyes of his best friend and the man who lived. Lifting his eyebrows, he gave them both a yeah about that look.

 

"Thanks, Draco." he heard Ginny yell back and noted the look of guilt that passed between the two men before him. 

 

"He's on his way back now. Should be back soon," he hollered - not taking his eyes off them.

 

"Mate," began Theo quietly. 

 

"Don't," hissed Draco. "I don't want to know. As far as Gin knows, he was off with one of the other trainers. Tell her Williams took you out." Harry nodded. "Theo, you make sure to cover it with him, and I'll make sure Charlie knows." Theo nodded moodily while staring at his feet.

 

"Nothing happened," Harry stated quietly. "I need you to know that."

 

"And I told you I don't want to know, but we both know you two have as much history as Mi, and I do - more so. And you're MARRIED now, Potter."

 

"I know that!" 

 

"You gonna tell her you were off with him?" Harry looked from Draco to Theo. His hesitancy was enough of an answer for Draco. "As I thought."

 

Theo scoffed. Harry turned to him. "I'm not ashamed of our friendship," Harry began, "Or what we had."

 

"But?"

 

"But Gin will never understand. She's almost as bad as Ron about Slytherins."

 

Theo nodded. "So, nothing's changed then."

 

"Mate everything's changed."

 

Draco ran a hand through his hair as he watched Theo nod his head and turn back towards the path away from Hermione's house.

 

"Fuck," swore Harry. Draco squeezed his eyes closed and took a deep breath to follow his friend. 

 

"Draco-"

 

"Leave it, Potter. I'll clean it up. Just like I did last time."

 

"That's not fair."

 

Draco's head whipped around. "Not fair! I'll tell you what's not fair," he hissed. "I lost years with Mi because of that stupid jealous prick's meddling. You gave up Theo willingly because you were a coward."

 

"I was not a coward!"

 

"Sure, you were. I remember our letters too, you know, Potter. The way you cared for Theo, what you had. It was real. It was beautiful, but it wasn't what was expected of the boy who lived. So you tossed him aside for the safer option."

 

"You're bang out of line, mate. I love Ginny."

 

"But do you love her the way you loved Theo? Did you find that fairytale you were looking for? That family you wanted? Was it worth trading in what you had with Theo to keep the public's favor? To stay in Molly's good graces? In Ron's? Tell me, how did that work out for you?"

 

Draco didn't see Harry's fist before it landed on his chin, sending him reeling back a few steps. 

 

"HARRY!" 

 

Harry felt his anger dissipate as Hermione and Ginny materialized around him. Hermione rushed past him to tend to Draco, who was spitting blood. "I'm fine, Mi. I'm fine," he stated, pulling his face from her fingers. His eyes never leaving Harry. 

 

"You stay away from me," the green-eyed man declared.

 

"Shouldn't be too difficult when you're not welcome here anymore." The quartet turned to see Phee and Charlie standing just a few feet away. Anger radiated off the blonde woman, and Hermione could see the strain in Charlie's muscles as he worked on holding her back. 

 

"Phee-" began Draco. 

 

"Absolutely not DB. He cold clocked you."

 

Draco shrugged. "Nothing compared to what he's done in the past." Behind him, Harry turned bright red as Ginny glared at him.

 

"What did you say to work him up?" the redhead demanded, stepping in front of her husband.

 

"Gin," muttered Harry softly, trying to pull her back.

 

"Nothing that wasn't true," returned Draco, lifting an eyebrow to Harry daring him to deny it. Harry's eyes filled with shame, and he broke eye contact with the blonde. "As I thought."

 

"My decree still stands," stated Phee, finally wrenching her arms free from Charlie. "I'm sorry, Charlie," she said, turning to the other man. 

 

"Just give them a little time, yeah?" asked Charlie with exasperation. Ophelia turned her attention to Draco, who inclined his head. His fingers were moving by his side.

 

Ophelia sighed, "Fine. DB says they can have 48 hours."

 

"Thank you," replied Charlie, cutting off Ginny, who opened her mouth to speak with a glare.

 

**"Dray? Will you tell me what happened?"** Draco shook his head no, " **Maybe over dinner tonight?"**

 

**"You still want to have dinner with me?"**

 

**"Yes. Please."**

 

Draco considered her for a moment, before nodding. Dipping his head, he kissed her lips gently. "I need to go find someone. Excuse me."

 

"I'll come with you," offered Phee, falling into step with her cousin with a nod goodbye to Charlie.

 

Charlie waited for the pair to be out of eyesight before rounding on his brother in law. "Are you out of your fucking mind!"

 

Harry felt bile rising in his throat as tears sprung to his eyes. "I just might be," he choked out before feeling himself crushed in a hug between his wife and his best friend. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This chapter was one of the first I wrote last year when this story first came to life for me, but when I sat down with it today, it took a totally different path than I expected! Def didn't mean the cliffhanger, but hey the next chapter will bring DINNER DATE and all DRAMIONE! Hope you enjoyed the kiss (FINALLY!) and that wherever you are, you're staying safe! 
> 
> xx the Wordsmith


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